


The Hounds Of Love

by verhalen



Series: Under The Rose [5]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Crush, Banter, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Cats, Crack Treated Seriously, Crickets the Moon, Cunnilingus, Discussion of Abortion, Dominant Maglor, Dooku Dresses Up Like Dracula For Halloween, Dooku Is Done With This Shit, Elves Reborn As Mortal, F/M, Gay Sex, Hair-pulling, Halloween, Hells the Unicorn, Het and Slash, Humor, I'm Sorry Tolkien, I'm sorry kiss, Incest, Jon Snow Still Knows Nothing, Kinky sex, Leashes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magical Realism, Maglor Gets A Bit More Than A Hug If You Get What I Mean, Maglor Gets a Hug, Maglor Is So Done, Maglor Loves Him Some Hair Metal, Modern Era, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Pegging, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prophetic Dreams, References to Harry Potter, Reincarnation, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Silmarils, Soren being Soren, Spanking, The Adventures Of Hells And The KISS Dolls, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: It is fall 2017, and Sören Sigurðsson and "Mark Lowry" are continuing what they started in Sausalito over the summer. But they have some challenges ahead - Sören's passion burns too hot to be with just one person. Indeed, Sörenburns, in such a way that his path crossing with Maglor's may not have been coincidental at all. But can he tell Maglor what he thinks he knows of their past, the sweet sin he remembers?And where is the other from those days, that he could not live without?
Relationships: Fëanor/Maglor, Maglor/OMC, Nicolae Dooku (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC) (pre-shipping), OMC/OFC
Series: Under The Rose [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1332257
Comments: 16
Kudos: 20





	1. Them Heavy People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SemperViridis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperViridis/gifts).



> This story was originally posted in November 2019 as my NaNoWriMo 2019 project. It was subsequently removed from A03 in September 2020 because, following changes I had to make to the multiverse over the summer of 2020, certain things in the original version of this story contradict the canon of my multiverse and made me uncomfortable. I have made edits to the story and am now re-posting it in October 2020. (As of November 2020, a second set of edits were made.)
> 
> I am also gifting this story to SemperViridis for her continued support and appreciation of my writing in general, and her love of the Sören/Maglor ship in the New Dawn verse, and certain elements of Maglor's character in this verse (e.g. his love of hair metal).
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
> Sören Sigurðsson is my OC. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson (mentioned) is my OC. For further information, please refer to my [Transformative Works Statement](https://verhalen.dreamwidth.org/263827.html).
> 
> Nicolae Dooku is an OMC inspired by Dooku from Star Wars. I began shipping Dooku with an OC named Sev in 2016 in a (now-archive-locked) fic called [_Stuck in the Middle With You_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8786491), and in 2018 wrote a modern Earth AU called [_Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787306) where Sev became a human named Sören, and Dooku evolved beyond his canonical self. He looks and sounds very similar and there are similar personality traits if you squint (such as his elegance and being formal and polite to a fault), but he is also decidedly non-villainous in my multiverse and I feel it is more fair at this point to call him an OC.

**October 2017**  
 _Corvallis, Oregon_  
  
  
It was Monday the second, and after a busy morning with his studio art class, Professor Sören Sigurðsson's scheduled break seemed to come on suddenly, taking him by surprise. He was in "the zone" more than usual, creative juices flowing fast and furious, that buzz he got in a room full of artists, helping to guide them. Sören was feeling too restless to sit down somewhere just yet, so the thirty-two-year-old burned off some of the excess energy by taking a brisk walk around the outside of the campus. It was a lovely day for it too - not too cold yet, not really warm, temperate, and the leaves were turning red, orange, gold on the oaks and maples among the evergreens.  
  
Finally Sören went in to the canteen, getting in the queue and glancing at the available food for purchase today as he waited his turn. He decided on a tuna sandwich with potato salad, which wasn't the most exciting thing in the world, but he'd be eating better later, when his boyfriend Mark cooked for him.  
  
Mark Lowry was a fellow professor, teaching music theory - which he'd been doing at Oregon State University since 2010, and now had tenure. He and Mark had been casually cordial seeing each other around campus before coincidentally sharing a beach house this past summer via Airbnb in Sausalito, California where they became friends, and then quite a bit more than that. In the interest of trying to stay professional, they kept their relationship discrete, which also meant that they took breaks together only sometimes. Sören knew Mark would be in the canteen any time now, but he wasn't expecting to break with him today.  
  
Sören grabbed an orange soda out of the machine and glanced around, trying to figure out where to sit. Then he spotted his teaching assistant, Karen Swanson, sitting at a table by herself in the corner.  
  
Even though he'd just seen her in the classroom not that long ago, his heart nonetheless skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered at the sight of her. Today she wore a cream-colored cashmere sweater with velvety brown trousers, and her platinum blonde hair was worn half-up half-down today, to the middle of her back. She didn't wear much makeup, or at least not that Sören would notice, and she was fond of statement piece jewelry, today wearing an ammolite fossil pendant with a necklace of twelve rough Baltic amber nuggets that led up to a link chain. She had matching dangly amber nugget earrings. He liked her jewelry. He liked the look of her in general, her blue eyes catching his now, her face lighting up with a smile. She waved him over.  
  
Karen wasn't just a pretty face, but Sören genuinely liked her personality - her warmth, her helpfulness, her intelligence, the way she could go between being no-nonsense, like the "mom" of the students, but would also encourage his jokes and random silliness. She was an ideal teaching assistant. They were roughly the same age - if Sören recalled correctly she was older than him by a few months - and Sören wondered why she was just a teaching assistant and not an actual professor in her own right. But he didn't like to pry, figuring if she felt like he should know, she'd tell him one of these days.  
  
He felt a little self-conscious for having a bit of a crush on his teaching assistant, and he tried to hide it, not only not wanting to make her feel sexually harassed, but also because he had yet to have the "I'm terrible at monogamy" conversation with Mark. They had been together since the end of July and Sören had been easing his way into that conversation, and others that eventually needed to happen, not wanting to rock the boat when the relationship was so new. And this was also uncharted territory for Sören as well - this was Karen's first year of working alongside him; his previous TA didn't pique his interest at all, so he wasn't used to feeling this way about someone he worked with so closely. But even though he was trying to not have a crush on Karen, he very much did.  
  
And regardless of how things went or didn't go between them, Sören considered her a friend, not just a colleague. It was that part of him that responded now as her smile dissolved and she picked at her seafood salad.  
  
"You OK?" Sören asked.  
  
Karen nodded. "Yeah. Just... have a lot on my mind." She tried to manage a smile, but her eyes were sad. "How's your day going?"  
  
"Pretty good so far. I went for a little walk. I've been living here in Oregon for four years now and I still can't get over how gorgeous it is here in the fall."  
  
"Oh, it really is." Karen nodded again, looking out the window where a breeze was rustling the trees, the fire of them a contrast against the bright blue sky. "It's part of why I moved out here."  
  
"From Scotland, já?" Sören loved her accent.  
  
"And Sheffield before that. But yes, I'd been in Scotland the last several years."  
  
"Scotland seems so pretty from the pictures I've seen, I'd love to visit there someday. Oregon is pretty and all, but I'm surprised you left."  
  
"I could say the same about you and Iceland."  
  
Sören felt that little twinge. He didn't want to get into the sad story of his past with someone he still didn't know terribly well, and someone he worked so closely with, to boot. "It was kind of a long story."  
  
"Same for me." Karen picked at her seafood salad some more. She looked out the window. "I'm not sorry I moved here, though."  
  
Sören needed to cheer her up a little. "Hi Not Sorry I Moved Here -"  
  
Karen narrowed her eyes at him, and kicked him under the table. She waved her fork at him. "You are a brat."  
  
" _Takk_."  
  
Karen giggled. She took a bite of seafood salad and looked out the window again. "The land really grabbed me when I arrived. It's far from home... both places I've called home... but it's becoming home now, too."  
  
"Oh, já, I felt that same connection with the Pacific Northwest right away. It's why I decided to stay here, I'm becoming a citizen next year."  
  
Now it was Karen's revenge. "Hi Becoming a Citizen Next Year, I'm Karen."  
  
Sören almost choked on his sandwich. "Hi Karen, I'm Sören."  
  
"Wow, really?"  
  
They laughed together, and then Karen said, "I'm glad you feel at home here too and don't you even."  
  
Sören gave her an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all.  
  
"Though..." Karen shook her head, chuckling. "We might have to share it with Bigfoot. My little brother Ben, who's a real nerd, was the one to inform me that Corvallis, Oregon is 'the Home of Bigfoot' because there's been four supposed Sasquatch sightings here, more than anywhere else in the country."  
  
Sören couldn't resist another joke. "That's not Bigfoot, that's Professor Dooku." Sören's best friend Nicolae Dooku taught ancient history, and he was six-foot-five, bearded, and Sören had seen a healthy growth of hair on his arms and the occasional glimpse of chest hair. Sören felt heat flood his cheeks, thinking about it. _Yummy..._ "Though hmmmm, with that silver hair and beard of his, he's more of a yeti..."  
  
"Oh my god, Sören, that's _terrible_." Karen giggled.  
  
"Nah, he knows I'm like this. He puts up with my shit. He kind of has to, driving me around like he does."  
  
"Oh, he does?"  
  
Sören nodded. "He lives next door to me and... I don't drive, after the accident I was in." Sören had another bite of his sandwich.  
  
"That's very nice of him."  
  
"He's been very nice to me." Sören took a sip of his drink. Then he laughed. "Bigfoot, though."  
  
"Yeah. Ben wants me to send him some Bigfoot memorabilia." Karen rolled her eyes. Then she said, "You've lived here awhile, yeah?"  
  
"Five years next year. No, I've never seen Bigfoot." That was when Sören finally saw Mark, getting in the queue. He waved, and Mark waved back. "I may have seen another kind of cryptid, or two."  
  
What Karen didn't know - and indeed, what nobody on that campus knew but Sören himself, was that Mark Lowry's name wasn't actually Mark Lowry, and he wasn't human. He was Macalaurë Fëanorion - Maglor of _The Silmarillion_ , forever exiled from his people, wandering among mortals. Mark narrowed his eyes at Sören now - he'd definitely heard that crack at his expense, and Sören's hole twitched around the buttplug he was wearing under his clothes, knowing he'd be paying for it later. He couldn't wait.  
  
"Speaking of cryptids," Karen said, eyeing a forkful of seafood salad, "I'm pretty sure this isn't seafood." She ate it anyway.  
  
"Jæja, it's that... imitation crab stuff. I'm an Icelander, I can't eat that, it makes my heart weep. Though..." Sören made a face through a mouthful of tuna sandwich. "This sandwich isn't much better either. So salty."  
  
"I don't know what I was thinking, picking this out."  
  
"Their burgers are usually a safe bet. I don't like to have that all the time, but I should have gone with that today. When it gets closer to the summer they sometimes have lobster rolls and those are the best thing they serve here - they use actual lobster. But usually not till school is almost out for the year."  
  
"Actual lobster?"  
  
"You know, as opposed to fake imitation lobster, like whatever that 'crab' is in your seafood salad."  
  
"Yeah, I know. It's just..." Karen giggled. "In the context of us talking about cryptids, it sounds funny. Actual lobster. As opposed to eldritch abomination lobster."  
  
"Cthulobster?"  
  
"Nyalobsterhotep."  
  
Sören and Karen were both laughing again, and then, in a fit of random silliness, Sören reached for his satchel. He took out his sketchbook, that he habitually carried with him - inspiration struck at odd times, and odd places - but instead of starting a sketch, he tore off a sheet of paper. Karen watched as he began folding it. "What are you doing?" Karen asked.  
  
"You'll see."  
  
A few minutes later, Sören had made an origami lobster and he made it dance across the table over to Karen, singing "doo-doo-doo, dun-dun-doo-doo-doo-doo" to the riff of "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s. "It's an even scarier cryptid than Cthulobster. It's a Rock Lobster."  
  
Karen had a gigglefit. Sören put the origami lobster in her hands and she began petting it. "I will pet him and love him and call him George," she quipped.  
  
"Well, if you're keeping him as a pet, he should have a friend." Sören tore off another sheet of paper and began folding again.  
  
Karen made a little squeak when Sören presented her with an origami turtle.  
  
"He's so precious!" Karen said, picking up the paper turtle.  
  
"You have a name for him?"  
  
Karen nodded. "Maturin, after the giant turtle in the <i>Dark Tower</i> series."  
  
"Awww, you're a Stephen King fan too? And that's adorable." Sören's stomach started doing flip-flops again. Her brand of weirdness was after his own heart. _You're adorable_ , he almost blurted out, and stopped himself.  
  
Karen ate another bite of seafood salad. Then she pushed it away, making a face.  
  
Sören pushed over his tuna sandwich. "I know I bit into it so it's maybe not super hygienic, but I don't have any diseases or anything." _A bad case of lovin' you_ , Robert Palmer's voice sang in his head. "I don't want you to starve yourself..."  
  
It was an offhanded remark, not wanting Karen to go hungry because she couldn't stomach the seafood salad, but the haunted look came back in her eyes and though she tried to smile, Sören knew right away that he'd hit some kind of a nerve. The idea that maybe she had starved herself once upon a time made Sören want to scream - she had a lovely hourglass figure. When he found women attractive, they were all different shapes and sizes. To him, diversity was beautiful, exciting. But he didn't say anything about what he'd just perceived.  
  
Karen did finish his tuna sandwich, and Sören ate the potato salad that was considerably more palatable. They were quieter now, but when they were finished eating Karen made her new origami pets walk around the table.  
  
"I'll take your trash for you," Sören said. Then he rubbed his beard. "Sorry, I never know if that's sexist or not. I'd offer regardless of gender."  
  
"It's fine, Sören. You're a gentleman."  
  
Sören fought back a smirk, thinking of the way he'd reamed Mark's ass last night, pulling Mark's flood of hair as he pounded away. He'd bit Mark's neck and shoulder, knowing it wouldn't bruise the next day. _No, I'm definitely not a gentleman._ Sören took her tray and walked over to the garbage, waving at her again on his way out.  
  
He was so flustered that he almost walked into a student as he stepped into the hall. This was definitely going to be a long rest of the day.  
  
  
_  
  
  
When his classes let out, he had an hour before Dooku was done for the day, so he went outside and sketched. He started sketching the trees, and then he found himself sketching a very large tortoise, with the rough lines of a woman riding on its back.  
  
Finally it was time, and Sören waited for Dooku at the designated bench. Dooku came out, looking sharp in a dark navy pinstripe suit - one of the few professors to wear a suit and tie every day, in contrast to Sören's khakis and sweater vest, though Sören was wearing a tie also... something Sören hated doing. Sören's act of rebellion was his Doc Martens boots, that he wore with everything, even on the occasions when he'd worn a suit and tie. Sören also refused to cut his hair short, keeping his unruly mop of dark curls nape-length. Sören stood up as Dooku approached.  
  
They walked out to Dooku's black Jaguar - Sören was always fairly amused by the fact that his best friend and his boyfriend drove the same kind of car.  
  
As Dooku drove, the light began to get that old gold quality as the day faded. It wouldn't be sunset for another couple of hours, but it was coming. They rode in companionable silence, with Dooku listening to classic rock - another thing Dooku and Mark had in common, though in Dooku's case he actually was from that generation, turning sixty-nine in December.  
  
Once they got to their neighborhood, Sören didn't want to part ways just yet. Mark would be over at 7, so he had time to kill. "You want to come in for a cup of coffee?"  
  
"Yes, thank you."  
  
Sören made them both coffee, and as they waited they "talked shop" - what their respective classes were working on right now. Sören normally didn't like to show works in progress to people but he let Dooku see the painting he'd started a couple weeks ago, which was roughly based on the private beach in the neighborhood of the place he and Mark had been renting over the summer. As with all of Sören's work, it had a photorealistic quality as well as surrealistic, infusing magic into the mundane. Mark didn't like photos of himself taken with the need to keep a low profile, but he'd agreed to let Sören paint him as a subject, and Mark was sitting on a stone here, playing harp.  
  
It wasn't the only recent painting featuring Mark. Sören was still putting the last finishing touches on a painting of Mark on Hawk Hill in the Marin Headlands in San Francisco, one of Hawk Hill's famed blue butterflies dancing on his fingertip. Sören had painted nebulas and galaxies into the butterfly's wings, so it looked like there was a little universe in the wings, and there was an intensely saturated sunrise in the background. The painting was very close to being done, and indeed just about anyone would think it was done, but Sören had an eye for the kind of details that you would only notice once you'd seen the painting a second time, possibly even a third or a fourth. Here he was inspired by the Bifröst of the Norse mythology he'd grown up with in school back in Iceland, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background taking on hints of rainbow iridescence, suggesting a portal between worlds. Dooku looked at that, too.  
  
"You always do such a phenomenal job," Dooku told him.  
  
"I try," Sören said. "It's tough to translate all of the color and detail of the little visions I get, but... I like a good challenge, I suppose."  
  
"I'd say more than like. You always speak of the process of creation with such passion. It's inspiring. You truly love your craft." Dooku gave a little sigh then as he looked back at the paintings of Mark. "It's clear you love your subject, as well."  
  
Sören felt his cheeks flush, reaching out to touch Mark in the painting with the butterfly. "Já, I really do." Sören smiled. "He and I just... mesh, you know?" Sören put his hands together, folding them.  
  
Dooku patted Sören's shoulder. "I'm glad you're happy, Sören."  
  
"Hi Glad You're Happy -"  
  
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sören..."  
  
Sören laughed and then he ran to the timer going off. He immediately wished he hadn't run, needing a puff on his inhaler.  
  
After their cups of coffee were fixed and Sören brought them out, Sören invited Dooku to put his feet up on the ottoman. Sören involuntarily cringed a little as he did, even though he'd offered - Sören's abusive ex Seth had sat in that same chair, used to put his feet up on that same ottoman, and Sören would wait on him hand and foot. This was very different - Dooku was a welcome guest, polite, frequently going out of his way for Sören. And Sören hated that even after he and Seth had been done since the beginning of December - since the car accident Seth had put him in - he still had daily reminders of things Seth said, things Seth did. It was bad enough that Sören was still too spooked to drive after the accident, that Seth owned space in his head that way. Sören still had all the old furniture he'd had when Seth was visiting... and the period of time when Seth had moved himself in.  
  
Sören wanted to set that fucking ottoman on fire.  
  
"I shouldn't stay too long," Dooku said after a few sips of coffee. "I know you have Mark coming over in a bit..."  
  
Sören nodded. "I still wanted to see you." Sören reached over and patted Dooku's knee. "I thought a nice cup of coffee would, you know... be nice, after a long day." Sören immediately bit back a groan. _A nice cup of coffee would be nice? Perhaps one from the Department of Redundancy Department?_ He didn't have the excuse of the language barrier, since Icelanders started learning English in school at a young age, and he'd been living away from Iceland since 2006, first in Canada, then in the United States. People frequently commented on how good his English was, when they weren't commenting on his "charming" accent. But sometimes Sören got a bit inarticulate, and it wasn't just because he was having yet another reminder of Seth, he realized, but how very much Dooku was not Seth. Dooku, who had helped him leave Seth for good, had scared Seth out of the state altogether after the accident.  
  
Dooku, who could have had him, if Dooku had shown any signs of interest earlier that year. But Sören didn't think Dooku was even gay, so he'd made himself stop hoping, especially as their friendship got closer, not wanting things to be weird with the man who became his best friend.  
  
Here and now though, in that dapper pinstripe suit... Sören bit his lower lip. He had an eye for beauty in different forms, and he couldn't deny that Dooku was very handsome, with his high cheekbones and patrician nose and distinguished beard, an absolute silver fox, one that sometimes made him tongue-tied. And that _voice_. Dooku had been living in the States for decades but he was born and raised in London - educated at Oxford - and still spoke with a Received Pronunciation accent, in a deep velvet tone. If Sören could be said to have a type regardless of gender, it was sexy voices.  
  
"You're always so thoughtful," Dooku said.  
  
"Well, I seem to recall you felt otherwise as recently as a year ago." They had once been feuding neighbors, which felt so strange now.  
  
"You were in a bad place then. This is the real you. And I appreciate it." Dooku gave him a little smile, his dark eyes twinkling.  
  
Sören smiled back. "Mark and I have one of our 'off' days tomorrow, so, ah... you want to get together?"  
  
"Yes, I would. And... thank you. As you know, I had concerns when you first told me that you and Mark were an item, that you would become one of those who always spends time with the partner and the friends fade away... but you haven't."  
  
"Ohhhh, Nico." Sören was not only one of the few people - if not the only person - allowed to call the professor by his first name, Nicolae, but Sören had ended up shortening it. It had started in a panic attack, but then it just stuck. "You're my best friend. I can't just forget about you."  
  
"I'm glad of it."  
  
"Hi Glad Of It -"  
  
"Though you try my patience sometimes." Dooku glared, thick eyebrows furrowed.  
  
That glare only made him more handsome. "Only sometimes?"  
  
The way Dooku's eyes smiled let Sören know he wasn't really that annoyed. "Brat."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Since Sören and Mark had come back from California in late August, Mark had visited Sören at his place more than a few times, but Sören had always slept at Mark's house. Tonight was notable in that Mark was finally going to be sleeping here. Mark usually cooked when they were at his place, and tonight Sören was giving him a night off from that and they were getting something delivered.  
  
Mark showed up right at seven. He'd changed from the all-black shirt, trousers and tie he wore to school, into a Metallica T-shirt and jeans, and was wearing a leather jacket. The six-foot-nine man with the lean yet muscular build and wavy black hair to the middle of his back came off like an intimidating "bad boy" to most, but Sören felt absolutely safe with him. Mark could be dangerous if provoked - Sören had once seen him throw punches at men who had it coming, and Sören knew from _The Silmarillion_ that Maglor was a killer. Yet with Sören, Mark was a gentle giant. Outside of the bedroom, anyway.  
  
Mark was carrying a bouquet of a dozen roses with him, which Sören was surprised and touched by. He couldn't ever remember Seth bringing him flowers when he came over. Mark had an overnight bag slung over his arm, and in his free hand he held the leash to walk Huan, a Corgi-sheepdog mix in training to be a service dog, who trotted ahead, tongue lolling happily, tail wagging. Huan gave a yip when he saw Sören and trotted faster.  
  
Sören stepped out and pulled Mark close to him, taking the flowers. He gave Mark a kiss. "You're so sweet," Sören husked.  
  
Mark kissed him back. "You deserve it."  
  
Once they were inside, Mark let Huan off the leash, Huan bounding around the house Sören rented. Mark kicked off his Doc Martens boots - he and Sören were shoe twins - and then Sören watched as Mark took a deep breath and his hair fell from the middle of his back all the way to his thighs. The tip of a pointy ear stuck out between locks of hair as Mark pulled off his jacket. In the golden glow of the candlelight that Sören had lit waiting for Mark to come over, Mark's aura shone silver. Mark took off the wire-rimmed glasses he wore to help disguise his eyes, which were silver-grey with iridescence like labradorite. Mark was breathtaking unglamoured, and that was still with his clothes on. Sören's hole started twitching around the buttplug he wore, thinking about Mark naked later, that gorgeous sculpted body...  
  
Mark was flawless except for his right hand, which was badly scarred from the Silmaril he once possessed, burns on the outside of his hand and a geometric burn on the palm, like facets had seared into him. But even that scar was beautiful to Sören, and moreso because of what Sören knew it represented.  
  
Sören found it poignant more than Mark knew - when Sören had read _The Silmarillion_ , he realized that he was Fëanor reborn. There were too many parallels - Sören's connection with fire, right down to it inked on his very skin, Sören's art, his temperament. And Sören had begun remembering details the canon left out. But Sören wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't delusions of grandeur - how mad did one have to be to fancy themselves a fictional character reborn, even when he'd learned that work of fiction wasn't entirely fictional, Maglor had visited Tolkien. And he risked a lot if he told Maglor he was his beloved father reborn, that he remembered Fëanor being lovers with his half-brothers and his second son... not simply that Mark would think he was a degenerate pervert if he was wrong, but if he was right, he worried that Mark would resent the magnificent glory of what Fëanor had been, reduced to this little mortal life. So even as they had just passed two months together, Sören still hadn't said anything about it. He didn't know if or when he was going to.  
  
Right now, it was enough that Mark was giving him a couple years to decide whether or not Sören wanted to come with him when Mark eventually had to leave Corvallis per government order to protect the common folk from knowing at least one non-human walked among them, with Mark not aging. That had been a big deal, when Mark was just going to bolt at the end of the year originally.  
  
Sören put the flowers in Sprite, to make them last longer. He and Mark sat on the couch together, listening to music, looking at different menus Sören had saved from places that delivered. They decided on Indian food.  
  
Chicken tikka, dhal, and naan was lovely, lovelier when Sören and Mark fed each other pieces of naan dipped in the remaining sauce from the chicken tikka. Huan had whined, but had been obedient to the commands Mark gave him - Huan attended service dog training school in nearby Lebanon, Oregon during the day when Mark was at OSU. When they were done eating, Sören finally got up and produced dog treats that he'd bought to spoil Huan when he visited, and Huan got up on Sören, licking his face in gratitude.  
  
"Awwwwww," Sören said, petting the dog. "I love you, too."  
  
Mark playfully gave Sören a few licks too, like he was a dog. Sören giggled and grabbed Mark's face and kissed him.  
  
Mark began to rub Sören's feet, which felt incredible, Sören melting at his touch, Mark's hands playing him like a harp. Eventually they began kissing again, necking, and at last Sören was on his back on the couch with Mark leaning over him, hands sliding over each other, kissing more passionately, hard cocks grinding together through their pants.  
  
And then Sören remembered how he and Seth used to make out on this couch - both in the early days of their relationship when Sören didn't realize what a monster he was, before the red flags had started going up, and at the end stage when Seth's cruelty had killed Sören's libido. Seth had forced himself on Sören on this couch more than once.  
  
Sören froze, and Mark felt it right away. He stopped kissing Sören and stroked Sören's face, pet his curls. "What is it, baby?" Mark whispered, his soothing deep voice even more soothing with a note of concern.  
  
Sören took a few deep breaths. "Seth."  
  
Mark sat up. He knew what Sören had been through - indeed, it had been knowing what Sören had been through that had made Mark be very careful about his interest back in Sausalito, so subtle Sören hadn't realized it. "Oh, honey..."  
  
"I'm sorry." Sören pressed his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, wincing, before his fists clenched. "I fucking hate that he's been gone since December and it's like he's still right here." He gestured to the couch they were sitting on. "He raped me on this couch." He pointed down the hall. "He raped me in my bed. It's why I haven't had you sleep over before, because..." Sören sighed. "I really thought I was getting over this, that I could have you here tonight, that we could take turns for once instead of us always sleeping together at your place, but..." Sören growled. "He's still here. All of this shit, all around me, all the time, _he's still living here_."  
  
"Baby." Mark pulled Sören close. He kissed the top of Sören's head and tightened his arms around him. "We can go back to my place, if you still want to..."  
  
"I do. I've been looking forward to it all day." Sören looked up at him. "I have the plug in and everything."  
  
Mark nipped Sören's lower lip, and kissed him. "I get it that you're still haunted. It's OK -"  
  
"It's not OK, Mark, I'm fucking tired of living like this."  
  
"OK, I phrased that wrong." Mark exhaled sharply. "What I mean is, I'm not mad at you, not upset with you. We'll go back to my place. It's no big deal."  
  
"It's a big deal to me. I'd like this to feel like my fucking home again."  
  
"I know. But you can't... like... get rid of all your furniture right now at this time of night, buy all new furniture and set it up, right this minute."  
  
A lightbulb went off over Sören's head. No, he couldn't do that tonight... but that was what he needed to do. A purge. New things. Get Seth's energy out of here as much as possible.  
  
Mark patted Sören's shoulder and then he got up. "Let's get a move on."  
  
Sören snuffed out the candles, packed an overnight bag, grabbed his med minder, and then they were off. They drove across town to Mark's house in silence, but every few minutes Mark reached out and touched him, rubbing, squeezing. When they were halfway there Sören started to cry, feeling ashamed. Mark reached in the glove compartment for tissues. "Oh, love. It's OK, baby," Mark husked.  
  
"It's not OK. I'm such a fucking mess." _The High King of the Noldor, "get thee gone from my gates" at Melkor himself, and now I'm a fucking scared crybaby. Some king._  
  
"Baby, we're both hurting people. We lean on each other. That's what we do."  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
Once they were at Mark's place, Mark had Sören wait at the door. After Huan was let off the leash and ran into the kitchen to drink water, Mark took off his leather jacket and boots. Then he went down the hall, and when he came back, Sören's angst melted away into wild laughter as he saw what was in Mark's hands.  
  
They had bought some interesting items during their stay in the Bay Area over the summer. Mark put the leather O-ring collar on Sören's neck now, and clipped the matching leash through the ring. He pulled Sören down the hall.  
  
They helped each other undress, and when they were naked, Mark had Sören climb on the bed. Mark had a four-poster canopy bed, the canopy hung with a black gauzy curtain that matched the black walls of the bedroom. Mark tied Sören's leash to one of the bedposts, making Sören lay on his stomach, and then Mark lit candles in the ornate wrought iron candelabras on the walls. He took a box of supplies off a nearby table, and brought them onto the bed.  
  
Sören made a purring noise as he felt oil poured over his back. Mark began to caress, rub and knead the tension out of Sören's body, from his shoulders down his arms and his back to his ass to his calves, and back up again. Mark's fingers lovingly traced the tattoos on Sören's body - full sleeve tattoos of flames on one arm, ocean waves on the other, leading to a firebird and a waterbird on his back. Sören had designed the ink himself, based on the first painting he'd made following his suicide attempt in 2005. Mark leaned over Sören and kissed, licked, the tattoos - the massage oil was vanilla flavored - and Sören moaned, trembled, hole twitching around the buttplug again, cock throbbing.  
  
When the back of Sören was thoroughly massaged and he was feeling floaty, Mark untied the leash and had Sören roll from his stomach to his back. Sören smiled up at him adoringly as Mark worked on the front of him, shoulders and arms, chest, stomach, thighs. Mark paid special attention to Sören's pierced nipples, rubbing in slow circles, and he caressed Sören's cock, playing with the captive bead ring of the Prince Albert piercing in the head. "You're so beautiful," Mark husked. "You deserve to be worshiped."  
  
"So do you," Sören breathed. Mark's aura was shining even more brightly in the black room, accentuating his otherworldly beauty. Sören reached up to play with his flood of hair, run his hands over the sculpted muscles, caressing. Sören stroked Mark's hard cock, before his hands slid over Mark's body again. Mark quivered under his touch, but before Sören could give him the same loving massage treatment, Mark took Sören's hands and kissed them.  
  
Then Mark gave Sören a stern look - though his eyes were mirthful - and he folded his arms. Sören admired the veins standing out, wanting to lick them. "Sören... I am not a cryptid."  
  
Sören howled, remembering earlier. "Hi, Not A Cryptid -"  
  
Mark's response to that was to shove Sören onto his side, and then he began to spank Sören's ass. Sören had been waiting for this, but he knew after his flashback earlier that evening, Mark had wanted to make sure he was good and relaxed before indulging in rough play. "Naughty," Mark said, slapping Sören's ass again and again. He groaned at the sight of Sören's hole twitching around the plug. "The naughtiest boys are the ones who act like brats because they want spankings."  
  
"Mmmmmhmmmm." Sören wiggled his ass and cried out when Mark spanked it again, making his cock jolt. "Please, more..."  
  
Mark spanked him a few more times. "If you like to be such a brat... you deserve some bratty teasing of your own."  
  
"Oh, yes."  
  
Mark pulled the plug out of Sören's ass and then his tongue dipped inside. Sören fisted the pillows, screaming as Mark's tongue brushed the sweet spot in him, stroking it just right. He was already so close. But they'd played this game many times now and Sören knew Mark was going to keep him on that edge as long as they could both stand it. Mark devoured him, rubbing his tongue hard and fast, reaching around to stroke Sören's cock, and before Sören could come he slowed down. Soon he had their vibrator on the frenulum of Sören's cock as his tongue swirled achingly slowly, and Sören sobbed, panted, so good...  
  
At last Mark relented. He rolled Sören onto his back again and began to suck Sören's cock. He brought Sören off to a first powerful climax, swallowing his seed hungrily, and when he kissed Sören, letting him taste himself in the kiss, Sören hardened up again. Mark slicked himself and pushed into Sören, going slowly at first, sensual and loving. The opposite of everything Seth had been. Mark took Sören's hands, before his hands played over Sören's body, fingers walking, teasing everywhere he could reach, loving every inch of him.  
  
As they got closer, Mark sped up, kissing and licking Sören's neck, shoulders, nipples. He loved to lick and suckle Sören's pierced nipples, tug the rings with his teeth before sucking the aching nubs some more. His fingers rolled and pinched and plucked one as his lips and tongue pleasured the other. Sören loved watching Mark feast on him, especially the heat in Mark's silver eyes, the sultry look Mark gave him as he enjoyed his lover's body. When Sören collected his precum and anointed his nipples, Mark suckled harder, lapped faster, like he would eat Sören alive. Sören's cries got louder, and Mark was urged on, pounding away, punishing Sören's ass, Sören's cock throbbing with each thrust, each delicious stroke against that sweet spot inside him.  
  
They came together, drinking each other's cries in a deep, hungry kiss, taking each other's hands again. Mark untied the leash from the bedpost and pulled Sören close, held him tight.  
  
"You are not damaged goods," Mark whispered. "You are my treasure. You are beyond precious to me."  
  
Sören's arms squeezed Mark. "I love you so much."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
With Mark holding the leash and still inside him, Sören shoved Mark onto his back, straddling his hips, and began to ride. Bouncing away on his cock, frenzied, bucking like he was riding a wild bull, Sören felt so very far away from the horror he'd endured a year ago with Seth. There was no pain, only pleasure, passion, no fear, only hunger.  
  
"I love you," Sören cried out. "I love you, love you, _love you_..."  
  
"I love you, baby." Mark slapped Sören's ass. "You are so fucking hot right now."  
  
Sören definitely felt hot - not just how sexy they were together, and not just the sweat that was starting to drip down both of them, but that fire, rising in him. The fire that not even a monster like Seth had managed to snuff out. It was still there. He rode Maglor as hard as he could, taking all that the ancient Elf had to give, all those years of pent up loneliness and skin hunger and desperate need. "Love you. Want you. Need you."  
  
Mark's hands were on his hips, Mark thrusting up into him, balls smacking against him, tugging on the leash. "Ride me, Sören. Let yourself relearn how good this feels. Let yourself feel how good we are together." His hands slid up Sören's stomach and chest, playing with his nipples.  
  
"Oh shit, oh god, oh _fuck_ , yes, yes, _yes_..."  
  
"Burn for me, my little flame." Mark leaned up and pulled Sören down into a kiss.


	2. Get Out Of My House

"Nico?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, then took a sip of coffee. They were on late morning break in the canteen. Mark had taken Sören to campus that morning, and even though Sören had only really been half-awake, through the fog of waking up Sören had been able to make a decision. It was one that needed help in the execution. "Can I ask you to do me a favor?"  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "Probably."  
  
"All right." Sören put his coffee down and folded his hands. He took a deep breath. "After school today, when you take me home, I know we had plans to hang out anyway, but... instead of having a chill night at home, I... ah... I need help with something."  
  
"What is that something, Sören?"  
  
Sören pursed his lips. "You notice that when we get together, I mostly spend time at your place... and when I'm with Mark, I usually visit him at his house. I tried to change that last night, he was going to sleep over, and we ended up going to his place."  
  
Dooku nodded. "I'd seen the both of you walking out to his car last night."  
  
"Jæja, well..." Sören frowned. "My house feels like Seth. I know he and I have been done since December, and it's now October, but..." He made a vague hand gesture. "All the furniture in my house reminds me of Seth. The armchair he sat in, the ottoman where he put his feet up and ordered me around. The kitchen table where he insulted my cooking. The dressers that he had his clothes in when he moved himself in. The couch he raped me on. The bed he raped me on." Sören narrowed his eyes. "I need to do a purge, and I need to do it now. I've been putting it off for months because, well... it feels wasteful to get rid of all my stuff and, you know, I come from thrifty Scandinavian farming stock, and I'd bought all that furniture with my own money when I moved out of the studio apartment I was in, into that house, I was very proud to finally have things of my own so I'd been chastising myself internally about wanting to be wasteful with these things I was so proud to have been able to afford, but..." Sören shook his head. "It needs to go. And I know that it's a school night, and this would be a better job for the weekend but I can't fucking take it anymore." Sören blinked back tears.  
  
Dooku took more than a few seconds to respond, and Sören worried for a minute that he not only was going to say no but was going to give him some kind of lecture, or worse, complain about feeling used. After all, Dooku was already driving Sören around most of the time, feeding him at least a couple days a week, and letting Sören use his washer and dryer.  
  
But then Dooku nodded. "All right. Is it everything-everything, or..."  
  
"It's just the pieces of furniture that I mentioned. But even that, I mean, it's gonna take time to, like, take my bed apart, and we have to figure out how to get it out of there -"  
  
Dooku held up a hand. Sören stopped talking. Dooku took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. Then, after a sip of coffee - making a face, the canteen coffee was garbage and they drank it anyway - Dooku said, "This is what we'll do. After our classes finish, I'll bring you back home and I'll go back to my place. We'll need to change into more casual clothing." Dooku gestured to the dark grey suit and tie he was wearing today. "I will go rent a U-Haul, and come over and help you take the furniture apart that needs to be taken apart to be moved -"  
  
"It's just the bed frame. I think we can get everything else in there with a hand truck or something."  
  
Dooku nodded. "We'll load the U-Haul. Do you have any thoughts about what to do with the furniture you're getting rid of?"  
  
"Part of me wants to just dump it outright because it has Seth cooties, but... we can take it to Goodwill, that's less wasteful, and more... charitable, I guess."  
  
"And do you have any thoughts about where you're getting replacements?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "IKEA? Reasonably priced, and it's not one of a kind items that I'm going to miss later if I move in with Mark."  
  
Dooku sipped his coffee. "To be honest, I'm surprised you're not already living with him."  
  
 _We agreed to wait on that because he's giving me time to decide if I want to throw my lot in with a wandering Elf and I'm not entirely convinced he's not going to up and bolt on short notice_ was not the sort of explanation Sören wanted to give. He settled on something that wasn't entirely a lie nor was it the full truth. "After Seth moved himself in last year, at the end, I'm a little gunshy of living with someone again."  
  
"Ah." Dooku nodded. "I understand." Dooku gave a small smile. "Well, I'm not sorry that you'll be my neighbor for at least awhile longer."  
  
"Hi Not Sorry That You'll Be My Neighbor For At Least Awhile Longer."  
  
Dooku glared. Sören kicked him under the table, grinning.  
  
"Even if you are a brat," Dooku said.  
  
"If I were a religious or superstitious man I'd say the universe conspired for us to live next door to each other because it thought you needed an adjustment with that stick up your arse," Sören said.  
  
"I do not have a stick up my arse."  
  
"My bad, it's a branch."  
  
"You know..."  
  
"I know."  
  
Dooku shook his head, his brow furrowed, but his eyes were smiling. Dooku opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed his mouth as if he decided against it, took another sip of his coffee, and then he leaned back in his chair. "Yes, we can do IKEA. As you know, the only one around here is in Portland, so... we could deposit your old furniture at one of the Goodwill locations there, then hit IKEA. And grab a bite to eat while we're out?"  
  
"That's a plan."  
  
"And... I assume you'll need at least some of the new furniture put together, and will need assistance."  
  
"I know that it'll probably be later in the evening when we get back, since it's an hour and a half there, an hour and a half back, and I don't want to keep you too late on a school night, but I at least need my bed assembled."  
  
"We'll see what we can put together this evening. We could probably get more than just your bed assembled, probably not everything, but we can make decent progress -"  
  
"And whatever we don't get to tonight, Mark can help me with tomorrow."  
  
Dooku nodded.  
  
"Thank you so much, Nico." Sören breathed a small sigh of relief. "I feel really bad asking, and on such short notice, I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of you, considering you're always doing stuff for me -"  
  
"I don't." Their eyes met. "I enjoy your company. And besides... this is for your mental health. To me, it's not that much different than taking you to your doctor's appointments, just more physical labor-intensive. And to be honest..." Dooku made a face. "I've been wanting to suggest something like this to you for months, because I rather observed you don't like being in your own house much and suspected you might have reminders of that bastard everywhere. I didn't want to offend you, didn't want it to come off as if I was judging your home decor..."  
  
Sören laughed at that. "Like the way you judged my car?" Before the accident that totaled Sören's car and left him too spooked to drive, he had a neon green Mitsubishi Lancer with a spoiler on the boot. When Sören had started making decent money as a professor and decided to trade in the ancient clunker he'd been driving in Canada, he'd wanted something fun and a little flashy, not like something everybody else had, and his car was immediately recognizable around Corvallis. Dooku had admitted more than once that he'd found the car "garish" and "vulgar".  
  
"Well... yes." Dooku nodded. "Your art is lovely, your ceramics are lovely, and your choice of vehicle was very much... not."  
  
"I like color. But whatever, that car is gone."  
  
"Yes. Anyway... I didn't want to make that suggestion lest you thought I was judging your taste in interior decorating. Those would be fighting words to a gay man, from what I understand."  
  
"I'm bisexual, not strictly gay. That's pretty funny, though."  
  
Dooku gave a small smile. "Your furniture isn't unattractive, my suggestion was more with the unattractive memories attached. I'm glad you eventually came to the conclusion that a bit of a home makeover would do your mental health some good."  
  
"And you're sure this isn't going to be stupidly inconvenient? It's a fair amount of stuff, and we're just two people." Sören cringed, thinking of how his asthma limited his ability to exert himself.  
  
"We shall manage. As you know, I'm quite physically active for my age."  
  
"Já, you're fucking scary. Er, I mean that in a good way." Sören thought Dooku's vitality and stamina would be impressive for someone decades younger, never mind a man in his late sixties - not only did Dooku go to the gym a few days a week, he also practiced sport fencing and took the martial art of Krav Maga, which was notoriously brutal. Seth had been on the receiving end of that Krav Maga training. Sören always got chills thinking about it, seeing Dooku unleashing his inner predator, powerful and magnificent.  
  
  
  
_  
  
  
Taking trips from Corvallis to Portland was something Sören and Dooku did fairly regularly, so in and of itself going up to Portland together, even on a school night, wasn't unusual for them. What was unusual was going in a U-Haul. Dooku looked a bit ill at ease driving it, and Sören suspected it was just as much the "garish" orange striping on the white truck as it was Dooku being cautious in a vehicle that wasn't his own. That made Dooku's willingness to help him with all of this on such short notice all the more endearing to Sören.  
  
Sören had changed into jeans when he got home, and he'd accidentally taken Mark's Metallica T-shirt home with him, finding that out when he reached for a clean shirt. It wasn't entirely clean - Sören could smell Mark on it and that was comforting to him, which made up for the shirt being big on him, with Mark being nine inches taller. Sören was also wearing the plug in his ass as usual, even though it was one of his and Mark's "off" nights so Sören didn't need to be open and ready for him, he was at a point where he found it easier to wear the plug every day rather than take a day off and try to get it in there... and he liked the feeling of being connected to Mark that way, Mark still dominating him even when they were off doing other things. And he liked the naughtiness of it, that slutty thrill of wearing it under his clothes as he walked around and went about his business. He felt sexy again, in a way he hadn't since things got bad with Seth, and indeed, sexier than he ever had before. It felt empowering, to reclaim his sexuality from the ashes, and share it with someone he loved so deeply.  
  
Dooku was wearing khakis and a light blue short-sleeve button-down shirt. Sören always thought Dooku looked dapper and handsome in his usual suit-and-tie to school, but there was something about seeing him dressed down like this that made Sören not able to help stealing glances at him on the way into Portland. Sören felt a bit self-conscious ogling his best friend, but he had an eye for beauty, and he couldn't help admiring the definition he could see in Dooku's arms - sculpted biceps and triceps that were a nice size without being too bulky, veins standing out on his arms, a dusting of silver hair. The top two buttons of Dooku's shirt were undone and Sören could see a hint of silver chest hair. Mark was smooth-chested - apart from the flood of hair on his head and a luxurious pubic bush he was nearly hairless, as an Elf, and Sören liked his smooth, marble-like body, but Sören also really liked body hair and chest hair, virile and manly. Sören restrained the urge to give Dooku a platonic pat on his arm just as an excuse to pet the inviting, silky fur there.  
  
Portland was on Sören and Dooku's list of "nice to visit, but wouldn't want to live there" places, and for much the same reason. Sören was born and raised in Akureyri, Iceland, a town of less than twenty thousand people, and he'd eventually moved to Reykjavik, a city ten times that. Then he'd lived in Toronto, Ontario, a city ten times that. He'd felt suffocated, and Portland and Toronto were roughly the same size. Seth had regularly been after Sören to move to Portland, saying he could work at the university there, but Sören really didn't want to live in a big city like that again if he could help it. Corvallis was more his speed. Not as small as Akureyri had been - small towns had their own set of issues, one of which being very limited dating prospects for men seeking men. Just enough to have things to do, but still with a homey feeling to it that Sören found comforting, and, as importantly, lots of room to breathe. The Pacific Northwest was a balm for Sören's soul, with its forests and mountains. And he and Dooku had bonded over their love of the land, that same feeling of being smothered that Dooku had felt growing up in London. But they really liked doing things in Portland together, nonetheless. And some of that was just the drive, watching the scenery together, music playing.  
  
What Dooku didn't know was that Sören liked riding around not just to watch the scenery, but the purr of the engine made the plug vibrate inside him a little, keeping him in a semi-aroused state. It added to the naughty thrill of wearing it. Sören sometimes wondered how Dooku would react if he knew Sören was wearing a buttplug most of the time these days, but it wasn't a conversation he was planning on having with Dooku, best friend or not. Dooku seemed uncomfortable with the topic of sex - as it seemed straight men tended to be when queer men brought it up - so Sören left it alone as much as he could.  
  
The first ten minutes of the ride, Sören had been profusely apologizing because it took close to an hour for them to take his bed frame apart, and another hour for them to load everything in the back of the U-Haul. Sören had felt fairly useless, trying to do what he could such as taking half of the table to carry into the U-Haul, bringing the kitchen chairs into the U-Haul, but Dooku had done the heavy lifting - he'd had an expanding hand truck with him to load heavier items onto such as the armchair and couch and dressers, but the items still needed to be pushed onto the hand truck, and pulled out of the house to the U-Haul in front. Dooku told him to stop apologizing - Sören's asthma started up just from carrying out half the table - but Sören still felt bad. At least Dooku was strong. It was one thing to know Dooku worked out and another thing to see that in action, moving a heavy couch like it barely took any effort. And Sören had to admit to himself that even though he still felt bad for not doing as much, and having Dooku help him with this on such short notice, he couldn't be entirely sorry - watching Dooku in motion was a privilege like watching a large cat hunt, watching a deer prance, watching an eagle soar. Dooku was a force of nature, and as an artist, Sören quite enjoyed the show.  
  
But even after Dooku had told Sören to quit apologizing, when they were getting close to the Portland city limits it started up again. "I'm sorry -"  
  
"Sören, enough. I told you it was fine." Dooku glared.  
  
"We've already taken so much time and we're nowhere near done with what needs to be done..."  
  
"And the sun is starting to set." Dooku pointed out the windshield. "Look at that sky. We would have missed it if we were staying indoors."  
  
Sören let out a little sigh at the beauty of the orange and pink that was starting to streak the sky, and watched as it spread, became many different shades, electrifying the blue. "I fucking love sunsets in fall. I love them year-round, but there's something about the way the sun sets in October and November..."  
  
"Indeed. It's lovely. And it's nice having company who appreciates it."  
  
Their first order of business in Portland was Goodwill. They drove around to the back for where donations were collected, and Dooku ran in to let them know what was coming in. A few minutes later a team came out and took everything out of the U-Haul, which was one less job for them to do.  
  
Sören felt a strange flood of relief as he watched the last of it roll away into the Goodwill center. "Get thee gone, thou Jail Ho," Sören said under his breath, thinking of the way Seth had kept him prisoner that final, awful month.  
  
They were near a few different restaurants, and Sören picked out a sandwich shop. A pop station was playing in the background - Dooku cringed at Katy Perry - but he didn't march Sören immediately out of there, and Sören gave him an apologetic smile, hoping the food would make up for Dooku having to endure the music selection. Over soup and sandwiches, Dooku checked Google Maps on his phone to plan the route to IKEA. Then, as Dooku was continuing to watch the fading sunset through the glass window near their booth, he pointed. Across the street was an antique shop. "We should go in there," Dooku said.  
  
"Nico, I told you I wanted to go to IKEA. Those places can get expensive and I don't want to feel bad about parting with one-of-a-kind stuff if I move in with Mark down the road..."  
  
"I wasn't asking you to shop there for everything, Sören. Maybe one or two non-essential items as, well, a sort of treat for yourself. Decorative things. A way to make your home feel more like your home, with a more personal touch."  
  
"I suppose, but I already feel like I'm going to be spending enough on this -"  
  
"I'll pay."  
  
"Oh my god, Nico. You've already done too much..."  
  
Dooku shook his head. "Consider it a belated 'congratulations on getting rid of the arsehole' gift, then."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. He reached across the table and patted Dooku's hands. "You helped a lot with that."  
  
"Yes, but you could have gone back to him. You had before."  
  
Sören looked down and sighed, nodding.  
  
"You've begun a new chapter of your life, this fall," Dooku said, "and it seems appropriate to give you something old, for something new."  
  
"I already have something old." Sören affectionately tweaked Dooku's nose.  
  
Dooku glared, but he also turned pink at that, his eyes smiling. "I am not quite an antique, Sören."  
  
"Hi Not Quite An Antique..."  
  
"YOU KNOW..."  
  
Sören grinned. "I know."  
  
Then Dooku cringed, as "Hotline Bling" by Drake came on in the background. "Although, moments like this, I do feel rather like an antique. Completely out of step with the times, with this Wyvern or whatever his name is -"  
  
Sören almost spat his orange soda. "Drake. His name is Drake. He's from Toronto, where I used to live! Gotta love Drake, representing for the Six. Though I like The Weeknd just a little better." The Weeknd's songs of existential angst in the Toronto party scene were the soundtrack of a certain time in Sören's twenties, clubbing, taking ketamine and ecstasy, lots of one-night stands, the weekends being his time to self-medicate with sex and drugs through the stress and anxiety of working on his doctorate.  
  
Dooku glared. "What even is bling? Why does it need a hotline?"  
  
Sören teared up, his sides hurting. "Oh my god, Nico." He found Dooku's reaction to the song precious. He also couldn't resist trolling him. Sören fished out his cell phone from his pocket and went to his ringtone app.  
  
"What are you doing?" Dooku raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You'll see."  
  
Sören bought a ringtone of "Hotline Bling" by Drake. He downloaded it and programmed it as the ringtone for Dooku's number. "Call my cell."  
  
"Wh-why? You're right here."  
  
"Call my fucking phone, Nico."  
  
Dooku did, giving him an annoyed look, and Sören's phone went off, vibrating, with Drake's voice singing  
  
 _I know when that hotline bling  
That can only mean one thing  
I know when that hotline bling  
That can only mean one thing_  
  
"See? Now I have an actual ringtone for you." Sören grinned.  
  
Dooku facepalmed.  
  
They walked across the street to the antique shop, but there was nothing in there that Sören particularly wanted - plus everything seemed ridiculously overpriced for what it was, and even though Dooku was keen on giving him a gift, Sören didn't want him spending money on an antique unless it was something Sören was very enthusiastic about.  
  
When they got back in the U-Haul to go to IKEA, Dooku was obviously disappointed that Sören didn't find anything he liked, and then Dooku said, "There's an antique shop back in Corvallis we could try. They should still be open when we get back in town..."  
  
"Only if you don't mind the night getting later with the detour, since we'll have to put together my bed and stuff."  
  
"I don't mind."  
  
They were fortunate enough to find a parking spot close to the entrance and exit, with Dooku smiling a little as they got out of the U-Haul. Sören had found in his nearly-a-year of riding with Dooku that he had an uncanny knack for getting good parking spots when they went places, even places that were guaranteed to be full and where good parking was a crapshoot. It was starting to get a little weird now. Before this past summer, Sören would have chalked it all up to coincidence and just really good luck, but now he couldn't help wondering if Dooku had some sort of subconscious magical ability that he wasn't quite aware of and was exercising all the same, perhaps connected to why age had been kind to him, because even though he took care of himself, there were other active, fit people who age had taken out of commission.  
  
 _He's not a Maia, is he? Gandalf?_ But that didn't feel right, and Sören was sure that Mark would have recognized him if so, and told Sören about it.  
  
Sören felt crazy again, suspecting that there was more to Dooku than met the eye. It was bad enough thinking he was Fëanor reborn. _Time to break out the tinfoil hat_. And it was frustrating, not knowing quite what that was in Dooku's case, like it was on the tip of his tongue and still eluded him. _It's probably not even a thing. Come on, thinking he's not-human-ish because he consistently gets really good parking? Come the fuck on. That shit is CRAZY._  
  
It was still a feeling Sören couldn't shake, as they walked into IKEA together.  
  
In its discomfort, Sören's brain went for humor as its default coping mechanism, and giggles bubbled out of him when Dooku was wheeling a hand truck around the store, with them looking at dressers first.  
  
"What?" Dooku asked. "Is it something naughty in Swedish?"  
  
That made Sören laugh even harder. "No, it's not that, though... I don't quite speak Swedish. Danish as a third language, which is close enough, but probably some things would get past my radar."  
  
What was amusing Sören was the surreality - _Here we have Fëanor, High King of the Noldor, walking around IKEA wearing a buttplug... The only way this would be funnier is if Fingolfin were here too._ He sighed. _I miss you, Ñolo._  
  
"Speaking three languages is quite a feat," Dooku said.  
  
"Well, you know. We have to start learning English young because the world doesn't speak Icelandic. And learning another one of the Scandinavian languages is traditional, if not necessarily obligatory. My Danish isn't as good as my English -"  
  
"Your English is very good." Dooku's eyes narrowed. "When you're not saying things like 'YOLO' and 'bling'."  
  
"Fo shizzle."  
  
Dooku facepalmed and made a noise. Sören laughed harder.  
  
"I speak Romanian and French," Dooku said. "A Scandinavian language has been on my to-do list for some time but I have so many other hobbies, I haven't gotten around to it. They're delightful to listen to, though." Dooku glanced at Sören. "Say something in Danish?"  
  
" _Noget på dansk._ "  
  
Dooku glared. "I'm pretty sure I understood that, you brat."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. He couldn't resist teasing Dooku, his reactions were priceless.  
  
"I didn't mean literally." Dooku raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sören grinned. " _Du er slags smuk, når du er irriteret._ "  
  
Sören went with all pine finishes for his dressers, kitchen table and chairs, and bed frame, reminiscent of the Scandinavian-style furniture his mamma had for the first nearly six years of his life in Akureyri. Dooku approved - something classic that went with everything. Sören had an oak table and chairs in his kitchen until today, that had looked nice with the warm yellow-golden-cream scheme of his kitchen, but he liked the pine even more. Sören picked out a deep blue sofa which would go with the pale blue walls in his living room - blue was his favorite color, and it matched better than his previous sofa, which had been a steel blue-grey. Sören also splurged on new bedding, going with a duvet and pillowcases in a dark blue plaid design that looked cozy, like the flannel shirts and pajamas he wore in colder months, and a second duvet and pillowcase set that had cheery gingko blossoms. He opted for a set of blue sheets and a set of red sheets to match his new bedcovers.  
  
Before they went to the checkout, Sören dragged Dooku through the food section - Swedish food and Icelandic food wasn't quite the same, but there were still some things beloved across Scandinavian cultures, like gingersnaps and licorice, which he added on top of the stack on the hand truck.  
  
On the ride back from Portland, Sören opened the bag of sweet-and-salty licorice and offered to Dooku.  
  
"I'll try one," Dooku said.  
  
Sören took it out of the bag and put it in Dooku's mouth, feeding him like he was giving Dooku's cat or Mark's dog a treat. Dooku gave Sören's finger a nibble too, with a playful growl that made Sören giggle but also flooded his cheeks with warmth.  
  
When Dooku finished his piece of licorice he said, "That was tasty. The licorice was good, too."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted, his face on fire now. Once again, he wondered how different things would be if Dooku was gay and had pursued him after the breakup with Seth. He was glad to be with Mark, but...  
  
Oh here we go again, let's not start back down this road and make things awkward.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm normally not like this, but you've been such a brat more than usual this evening, I had to tease you back." Dooku smiled.  
  
"Hi Normally Not Like This -"  
  
"You know..."  
  
"Have another?" Sören held out another piece of licorice. Dooku nommed on his hand again before accepting the treat, and Sören felt his cock stir. _Fuck._  
  
Sören had a few pieces before closing the bag up, not wanting to eat too many at once.  
  
They managed to get to the antique shop in Corvallis in the last twenty minutes before closing time. The prices were more reasonable here, but once again, nothing particularly caught Sören's eye, until...  
  
"Oh wow, that's a really nice mirror." Sören made a beeline.  
  
"Oh, yes, indeed." Dooku's finger traced around the ornate floral-carved edge, wood with traces of gold and silver in the finish. "That's a baroque design."  
  
"That would fit on the center dresser, you think?"  
  
Dooku took a few steps back, as if calculating perspective in his mind. "I believe so. If not, it could be mounted on the wall above it."  
  
"All right. I think I want this." Then Sören checked the price tag. "Ha ha ha... no. Never mind."  
  
Dooku saw the price tag, snorted, and picked up the mirror from the display, hefting it over to the register.  
  
"Oh my god. Nico. You do not have to spend this kind of money on me -"  
  
"It's clear that my idea of expensive and yours differs. Even so, your friendship is priceless. I'm buying you the damn mirror."  
  
Sören huffed, feeling like this was unfair to Dooku, but the shop clerk had come out - a short, wizened man who looked old enough to be Dooku's grandfather, wearing half-moon spectacles and going on about how the mirror was from Italy and showing the signature of the artisan, carved into the back of the mirror, a simple F.F.  
  
 _Yeah, FFFFFF is right,_ Sören thought to himself, still not able to get over Dooku spending this kind of money on him.  
  
Their next stop was to unload the boxes, bags of bedding and snacks, the mattress and box spring, and the mirror at Sören's place, then Dooku drove back the U-Haul and retrieved his own Jaguar, while Sören got a head start building a dresser so he'd have somewhere to put his clothes overnight. Dooku knocked when he came back - Sören still jumped even though he was expecting him, a startle response from PTSD. He was annoyed with himself for reacting like that, and Dooku seemed to know he was rattled without saying anything, giving him an assuring shoulder pat and squeeze as he walked in.  
  
"How is the dresser coming along?" Dooku asked.  
  
"Most of the way there. The instructions are pretty straightforward - stick tab A into slot B." Sören went there by force of habit. "I've had, ah, a fair bit of experience doing that." He snickered. Then he realized he was around Dooku, who looked away, turning a little pink. "Er, sorry."  
  
Dooku made a noise, reaching for the box with the bed frame, which he dragged down to Sören's bedroom to set up there.  
  
When the first of the three dressers was finished, Sören used Dooku's hand truck to wheel it down to the bedroom, where Dooku was on his knees, hard at work assembling the bed frame. He looked flushed and a little sweaty, so after Sören brought in the dresser he went to the kitchen and poured ice water for both of them. Dooku accepted his with a thanks, and Sören went back to the living room to pick up the mirror and bring it down. It sat on top of the dresser perfectly, looking like it belonged there.  
  
"Oh yes, that is very nice," Dooku said, nodding.  
  
"Nico?" Sören walked over to Dooku and threw his arms around Dooku's neck, holding him close for a moment. "Thank you. I know you say that kind of money's no object for you, but it's... it's still a big deal to me. I really don't want you to feel taken advantage of -"  
  
"I don't. You haven't had a lot of nice things, Sören. I like being able to do what I can for you." Dooku patted him before he pulled apart, his face more flushed than before.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Dooku nodded. "Just very warm in here - it's always warm in your house for some reason - and putting this bed together."  
  
"OK."  
  
Sören set to work building the next two dressers. By the time those were done, Sören's bed frame was ready, and Sören and Dooku dragged the mattress onto the hand truck, with Sören needing another puff from his inhaler. Dooku came back for the box spring by himself. Dooku and Sören put the box spring on the frame, then the mattress. Sören reached for the blue plaid bedding bag and opened it.  
  
Dooku took it from him. "That needs to be laundered first, before you put it on your bed."  
  
"OK. Uh..." Sören looked at the time. "Washing and drying that now, that's gonna keep us up awhile longer. But I really don't want to keep the sheets I slept on with Seth on this bed..."  
  
"I have a solution. I'll take your new bedding to my place to do tonight and tomorrow, and in the meantime you can borrow one of the sets that's in my closet, not currently in use. In fact, you can keep it if you like it."  
  
Dooku went back to his place with the IKEA bedding, and returned with a duvet, a blanket, sheets and pillowcases. The duvet was blue paisley, the blanket was solid blue cashmere, with deep blue silk sheets.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Nico, you're spoiling me to death," Sören said.  
  
Sören made the bed, while Dooku went to the living room to start assembling the sofa. Sören began assembling the kitchen table and chairs in the kitchen. He was working up a sweat himself - he didn't know why his place was always so warm, he rarely had the heat on even in winter. He stopped for more iced water, bringing it out to Dooku, who was now quite sweaty.  
  
After a few sips of iced water, Dooku said, "Sören, I hope you don't mind, but I... I need to take my shirt off." He raised an arm, presenting pit stains with his nice blue shirt. "I'm normally much more modest, but..."  
  
"Pffff," Sören said. "I'm Icelandic, you could go around naked and it wouldn't be a big deal to me. I think I'll take my shirt off too, because Jesus Christ, it's hot in here." With that, he pulled off Mark's Metallica shirt on the way back into the kitchen, leaving it on the kitchen counter.  
  
He came back with another round of iced water since Dooku was sweating so much, just in time to see Dooku undo the last two buttons of his shirt and pull it off. Immediately, Sören regretted saying that nudity was no big deal to him. _Ooh, Daddy,_ was Sören's immediate reaction at the sight of Dooku shirtless. It was one thing to know Dooku worked out and took martial arts and was a swordsman, and see his arms and the way suits fit him, it was another thing to see him like this. Sören couldn't help looking at his pecs and a tight six-pack abdomen, and the silver pelt covering them, heavier on the chest, more fine over the stomach. The rosy nipples peeking out through the chest hair. The silver hair was striking with his olive complexion, and his skin was surprisingly clear at his age, only a little weathered.  
  
And he was glistening with sweat.  
  
 _Fuck, he's hot._  
  
Sören felt his cock stirring and his hole twitching around the plug inside him. This was dangerous, looking at his best friend this way.  
  
Sören chugged iced water as heat flooded him, this time not from the temperature of the house or the exertion of building furniture. Dooku looked at him as he drank - Sören was shirtless and sweaty too, and Sören's pierced nipples were starting to harden as the air felt cooler with no shirt on, as well as from that frisson of arousal. Then Dooku looked away, intensely studying the IKEA couch instructions, his face beetroot. Sören imagined Dooku was modest enough to be embarrassed to be shirtless - though he had not a damn thing to be embarrassed about - never mind having a shirtless queer man in the same room with him.  
  
 _God, this is awkward._ Awkward still because every nerve in Sören's body was screaming to go over there and pet that chest hair, run his hands over the muscles...  
  
"You lift, bro?" The words came out before Sören could stop himself, trying to dial down the tension, but somehow the thought of Dooku working out did nothing to calm his raging arousal.  
  
Dooku nodded, still studying the IKEA manual. "I can bench 300, squat 400 and deadlift 500."  
  
Sören let out a low whistle. "So you could pick me up and carry me around without it being much effort." Sören was just over 170 pounds at six feet tall, wiry from hyperactive, nervous energy that made him pace a lot. Then the thought came unbidden: _You could manhandle me._  
  
"Er, yes, I suppose." Dooku's brow furrowed as he brought the IKEA manual closer to his face, squinting at it.  
  
Sören went back to the kitchen to continue work on the table and chairs... and kept stealing glances at Dooku working on the couch in the living room. Dooku had to move around to fit pieces together, and when his back was turned, Sören found himself staring at the muscle definition in Dooku's back as well. _Fuck. Me._ His cock throbbed and hole twitched again.  
  
Sören had no choice but to either go to the bathroom and jerk off, or attempt to conceal his erection. He grabbed the Metallica shirt he'd put on the counter and tied it around his waist like a makeshift kilt. That only sort of disguised it. Sören went to the sink to splash cold water on his face. _Margaret Thatcher,_ he told himself, his go-to erection killer. _Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher..._ It helped somewhat, but Sören could still feel himself sporting a semi. Not one that would be noticed under the Metallica shirt kilt, but one he himself felt all the same.  
  
Finally the couch was done, and Sören and Dooku pushed it against the wall. They took a few steps back and Sören gave the thumbs up. "Perfect."  
  
Then they looked at the time. "If it wasn't a school night I'd stay to finish the armchair," Dooku said, "but -"  
  
Sören nodded. "No, this is good enough. Mark can help me put the armchair together when he comes tomorrow. We got most of it done which was more than I was expecting. Thank you, again, so much."  
  
Dooku put his shirt back on and buttoned it, his hands shaking a little.  
  
"You OK?" Sören, concerned, went to the fridge and came back with a small bottle of Gatorade. "Here, have some electrolytes..."  
  
"Thank you." Dooku took the bottle. "All right. I should be on my way, at this hour..."  
  
Sören walked him to the door. "See you tomorrow!" he said, waving.  
  
As soon as the door was closed, Sören leaned against it and "oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuckohfuck" poured out of his mouth.  
  
Sören put his cell phone on its charger on the bedtable, took his night meds, and a shower. Usually a shower at night would relax him and help him get to sleep, but lathering his body only seemed to make things worse, and by the time Sören was out of the shower, he was sporting another full erection. He kept thinking about Dooku's muscles rippling, that chest hair, the fact that Dooku was strong enough to pick him up...  
  
Sören got into bed. Being in the same sheets that had once been against Dooku's gorgeous, Greek god like body, did not help whatsoever. He needed to take care of this, but he wasn't going to fall down the slippery slope of masturbating to his best friend.  
  
Sören found himself taking the cell phone off its charger and speed-dialing Mark's number.  
  
Mark picked up after two rings. "Hey, baby," he said, voice husky from what sounded like sleep or getting on his way there.  
  
"Mark. Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"What's up, Sören? It's late, you OK?"  
  
"Jæja, I'm fine." Sören gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his beard, not believing he was about to do this. "I'm just, ah. Really horny."  
  
Mark gave a shuddery little sigh. "Babe, if it wasn't this late I'd come over and get you off, but I'm probably too dead to drive right now."  
  
"Jæja, I know. I... ah..." Heat flooded Sören's cheeks. _Here we go._ He had never done this before. "Wanted to hear your voice, as I. Ah. Take care of myself." His cock was already in his free hand.  
  
There was a pause, and then Mark chuckled. "Oh, my. So you want to have phone sex, basically."  
  
 _Maglor the Mighty, the power of his voice could be heard across land and sea... now using his voice for phone sex._ "Is that OK?"  
  
Mark cleared his throat. His voice got lower, huskier, smoother. "What are you wearing?"  
  
Sören and Mark both lost it, Sören giggling into his pillow. Somehow, the dorkiness of the moment didn't make him lose his erection. "God..."  
  
"All right, all right. Let me get... all serious now." Another clear of the throat. "Are you naked, baby?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Hard?"  
  
"Very."  
  
"Mmmmm. Start stroking yourself for me, Sören."  
  
Sören did as he was told. He let out a moan.  
  
"Good boy," Mark said. "Keep stroking yourself, baby."  
  
"Mmmm, Mark..." Sören gave a little whimper. "I wish you were here right now..."  
  
"I do too. If it wasn't so late and I was safe to drive, I'd come over... get in your bed with you... start sucking on you..."  
  
"Ooooh." Sören liked that mental image, continuing to stroke.  
  
"Sucking you slowly. Watching your eyes. Hearing your moans. God, Sören, thinking about doing that to you has me hard now, too." Mark groaned. "Now I've got my cock out..."  
  
"Are you stroking it?"  
  
"Yeah." Mark groaned again. "Mmmmm."  
  
"I wish I was sucking you, too." That mental image made Sören harder, and he stroked faster.  
  
"If I was there with you we'd be sucking each other. And then I'd put my tongue inside you... you wore the plug today, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good boy. So you'd be open for me, and all sensitive... work my tongue, eating you..." Mark groaned. "Fuck, Sören."  
  
"God." Sören shuddered.  
  
"Suck your cock some more... as much as I want to taste you, though, having my tongue in you makes me want to put something else in you. So I'd lay you down, climb over you... my cock rubbing on yours as we kiss..."  
  
" _Fuck_." Sören stroked harder, loving the mental image.  
  
"Take our cocks into my hand like the way we're stroking ourselves now..."  
  
"Yes..." Sören shivered and let out a whimper. His cock was slick with precum and starting to make a rattling sound in his hand.  
  
"Oh baby, I can hear you. You're all wet, aren't you?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Take some of that precum and rub it on your nipples, baby."  
  
Sören did as he was told. "Oh, god..."  
  
"Keep rubbing your nipples for me."  
  
"Mmmmm..."  
  
"Thinking about you teasing yourself like that gets me so. Fucking. Hot." Mark groaned. Now Sören could hear the wetness of Mark's cock, too, and Sören licked his lips, thinking about the sight of Mark's cock glistening wet. "Tug your nipple rings, Sören."  
  
Sören tugged one, then the other. "Oh god..."  
  
"Pinch them."  
  
" _Fuckkkk_..."  
  
"Rub them some more, baby. Think about my tongue on them, my lips on them, teasing those sexy little nubs..."  
  
"FUCK!" Sören's nipples were hard-wired to his cock, and his cock jolted as he played with his nipples.  
  
"It's a school night but I would be so tempted to just lick those nipples for hours, worship them..." Mark moaned. "So hot, Sören. You make me fucking crazy."  
  
"Mark, please..." Sören whimpered. "I need to come..."  
  
Mark sighed. "Stroke that cock, baby. Think about my cock rubbing yours..."  
  
"Mmmmmm...."  
  
"Kissing you... kissing your neck... kissing and licking your nipples... cock rubbing cock..."  
  
"Mark..."  
  
"Your pre gets all over my cock, and mine all over yours..."  
  
Sören whimpered again.  
  
"And with my cock slick from your precum, I push inside you... start fucking you slowly..."  
  
"Oh, fuck..." Sören groaned, feeling ready to climb the walls at the thought of Mark inside him.  
  
Mark groaned too. "My hand is tightening on my cock, thinking about your hot little ass... which would feel so much better than my hand... but it'll do for now. Oh Sören, you feel so good. Oh, god, I love fucking you..."  
  
"Mark, fuck me..." Sören stroked harder, fast and furious, wanting Mark inside him, wanting to watch Mark's gorgeous body in motion as he pistoned in and out. He shivered, breaking out into a sweat again, wrist aching from how hard he was jerking his cock. He was panting, heat flooding his body. "Fuck me, Mark..."  
  
Mark growled. "Watching you stroke yourself as I fuck you... stroke that cock for me, Sören. Stroke that beautiful cock, love looking at it when I'm inside you..."  
  
"Mark... oh god... ohgodohgod Mark... _Mark_..." Sören whimpered.  
  
"I can hear your cock, baby." Mark lowered the phone to his own so Sören could hear the sounds of him strokiing. Then Mark brought the phone back up. "You're gonna come soon, aren't you?"  
  
"Mmhm!"  
  
"So am I. Thinking about you coming..." Mark growled. "Want to come inside you..."  
  
The thought of Mark's cock shooting, watching Mark's face in the throes of climax, hearing him... Sören could feel his balls tightening, that tensing feeling like he was about to spring and fly off. "I want your cum inside me... want to come all over your gorgeous body..."  
  
"OH, Sören." Mark groaned. "Oh, Sören. Sören. I'm so close..."  
  
"So close." Sören gave a shuddery gasp. "Almost there."  
  
"Stroke it, baby. Stroke that beautiful cock for me... I'm about to come in your hot little ass.."  
  
"FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck..."  
  
"You want it?"  
  
"So bad." Sören moaned. "Mark..." He whimpered. "Mark..."  
  
Mark growled. "Fucking you so hard. Taking what's mine..."  
  
" _Mark_!" He could see it, he could almost feel it. Mark slamming into him, balls slapping against him as his cock pumped in and out... heat in his silver eyes, the almost-angry look of lust on his face... Sören shivered, cock jolting, twinging. "More..."  
  
"Yes." Mark growled again. "Mine. Gonna breed you, claim you..."  
  
"Ohgodohgod Mark ohfuck..." Those dominant words, the thought of Mark spending into him... Sören made an inhuman noise, feeling his body tense even more, thighs quivering, balls tightening to the point of no return, ready to explode.  
  
"Come for me, Sören."  
  
" _MARK!"_ Sören threw his head back and gave a wordless shout. Then a high-pitched whimper, a deep growl. "Mark. Mark..."  
  
"Oh, Sören..." Mark cried out too. "Sören." Another cry. "Oh, fuck, _Sören_..."  
  
They panted together through their release. Sören's hand was all sticky and he'd made a mess over his naked body.  
  
"Taste yourself, baby. If I was there I'd be kissing it off your tongue," Mark whispered.  
  
Sören licked his hand clean, and had an aftershock as he thought of Mark doing just that.  
  
Mark laughed softly. "Better?"  
  
"Just about. I think I can sleep now."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow night."  
  
"You will."  
  
"Thank you, Mark. I... I needed that."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Sören held the phone to his heart when the call ended. It wasn't quite as good as if Mark had been there bringing him off himself, but it was good enough. With the tension melted out of him, Sören hit the pillows and fell right asleep.


	3. The Sensual World

Sören slept well in his new bed - unfortunately, he'd been up late enough last night that he'd only managed to get six hours of sleep before his alarm went off, which wasn't nearly enough for him to feel rested. Still, the grumpiness he would normally feel at lack of sleep and mornings in general - trying even when he'd gotten adequate rest - was offset by the shiny new feeling of his home makeover. Already, the place felt better, like his space again. And he was touched by Dooku's generosity with the mirror, and the gift of his time and labor.  
  
Most of all, he was excited to see Mark later - he'd be talking to Mark before the school day was over to invite Mark to his place, rather than going to Mark's place as usual. Making love to Mark in his new bed would be the next important act of reclaiming not just his physical space, but his mental space. He knew he'd never truly be "over" what happened with Seth, but the more of his life he reclaimed, the further he could push it away. He felt less powerless than he had mere months ago.  
  
When Dooku was ready to go the campus and Sören got in his car, the first thing he did was throw his arms around his best friend. Dooku chuckled, turning a little pink.  
  
"Good morning to you too," Dooku said. "What was that for?"  
  
"Last night." Sören patted him. "You're such a good friend."  
  
Dooku smiled. "So are you. You've brought a lot of happiness to my life, I wanted to do something nice for you."  
  
"I'm not letting you get away with this without giving you something," Sören said, wagging his finger.  
  
"You don't need to get me anything." Dooku watched the road, his face more flushed than before. "It was a gift. Freely given."  
  
"In the Old Norse poem Havamal, it says _Be a friend to your friend, and repay each gift with a gift._ " Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"The Havamal also says not to trust women." Dooku's eyes narrowed, and he made a sniff of disdain.  
  
Sören was once again tickled that Dooku, the ancient history professor, was someone he could discuss Viking history with sometimes, a subject Sören was very familiar with, growing up in Iceland. He grinned at Dooku. "Right, obviously it's flawed, and don't get me started on the flaws of the 'god' the poem is attributed to. With gods like Odin, it's no wonder the conversion to Christianity in Iceland was so peaceful, literally anybody looked like less of an asshole. Donald Trump looks less of an asshole by comparison."  
  
Dooku's laughter rang out. "Sören, don't ever change."  
  
"But, you know, there are nuggets of wisdom here and there. Even my crazy racist, homophobic drunk of an uncle was right about the world once in awhile." Sören rolled his eyes. "Just once in awhile. A stopped clock is right twice a day, and all."  
  
"Did you... just compare Odin to your uncle Einar?"  
  
"Jæja, I guess I did." Sören chuckled. "Fuck Odin. Fuck the gods."  
  
"Hm, indeed. As you know, I fell away from the Orthodox Church in my youth because I could not reconcile the concept of a just and merciful god with the reality of evil in the world. As the years have gone on and I've gotten older and have seen even more of it, I find myself less able to believe, and if I am wrong and there are in fact deities, they have a lot to be held accountable for. They have earnt none of my respect, they have no right to my worship." Dooku frowned. "Sorry, it's probably too early in the morning for philosophy and religion -"  
  
"Normally I'd say yes, but, you know, I had a pretty good night last night and it seems to be lasting into this morning."  
  
"You did, did you?" Dooku glanced over with a little smile.  
  
"I did. You helped." Sören narrowed his eyes back at Dooku. "I'm getting you something."  
  
"If you must. As you know, I am well off and don't need anything, and I feel guilty about you spending money on me -"  
  
Sören blew a raspberry.  
  
"But if you absolutely insist..." Dooku glared. "Don't be extravagant."  
  
Sören blew another raspberry.  
  
Dooku was habitually early for his classes, arriving well before time, and while Sören had been a little grumbly about it when Dooku first started driving him to and from school - and felt bad since Dooku didn't have to drive him - Sören had gotten used to it and found the extra time valuable to set up for the day's work.  
  
When he got in his classroom, after he put on the lights he sent Mark a text message, knowing Mark was up and about, and preferring to have this conversation by text while he was on campus, since he and Mark were still trying to be discrete about their relationship. He started by sending a heart emoji.  
  
Mark sent one back.  
  
 _Thank you again for last night,_ Sören texted, sending an eggplant emoji and a wink emoji.  
  
 _The pleasure was mine,_ Mark replied, also sending an eggplant emoji with water drops and a wink.  
  
Sören gigglesnorted at the surrealism of Maglor, the ancient Elf, sending a text message with a suggestive eggplant emoji in it. _Not that Fëanor sending it out is much better._  
  
 _We're still on for tonight, right?_ Mark texted.  
  
Sören answered: _We most certainly are. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about._  
  
 _Oh?_  
  
 _Can we do my place tonight?_ Sören asked.  
  
He waited. Mark's response took a little longer than usual, and then it came: _We can, but Sören, I don't want you to feel obligated to have me there. You don't need to do that "man up" shit for me. I get PTSD. We've been over this._  
  
 _Well aCtUaLlY_ , Sören replied, _Nico took me out to IKEA to get new furniture last night. Already the place feels better._  
  
Sören went on, _This isn't about me trying to be "manly" and "just get over it", this is about me reclaiming my home, my life. I'd like to at least try._  
  
A couple of minutes later, Mark sent back: _OK. We can try. I don't want you to feel bad if you end up getting triggered, but we can try_.  
  
 _I need to try, Mark. I need to do this for myself. So 6 PM my place?_  
  
 _You got it._ Then, a minute later: _I still insist on cooking for you._  
  
 _I won't object to that._ A smile emoji. _Your cooking is awesome._ A wink emoji. _I'll be the dessert._  
  
Mark texted: _You most certainly will. Last night gave me an appetite. I'm starving for you._ A couple seconds later: _hells_  
  
Sören grinned. _Hi Starving For You! I'm Sören._  
  
Mark sent back the middle finger emoji.  
  
Sören kept a stereo in his classroom and some mp3 playlists. In a surprisingly bubbly mood for the morning, he put on his R&B playlist, helping to remind him of the promise of romance and passion later. A few songs in he turned it up, when "Nite and Day" by Al B. Sure came on. He was only a small boy when the song was new in 1988, discovering it years later when he was a randy young man.  
  
Sören found himself singing along and doing a sensual little dance, slowly swiveling his hips and waist as he walked from table to table. The dance produced a little friction with his buttplug which was pleasant without being too arousing while he was at school.  
  
 _I'll love you more in the rain or shine  
And making love in the rain is fine  
A love so good and I call it mine  
Love is blind  
  
I can tell you how I feel about you night and day  
How I feel about you  
I can tell you how I feel about you night and day  
How I feel about you  
  
Believe me when I say that I do care, I can tell you  
I'd like to run my fingers through your hair, I can tell you  
Baby, if you left I could not bear, I can tell you  
Please don't share  
  
Do you love me, please let me know, I can tell you  
Don't hide the feeling, just let it show, I can tell you  
A feeling so deep that comes within, I can tell you  
What kind of love am I in, ooh..._  
  
All of a sudden Sören heard a little clear of the throat. He startled, jumping with a gasp, and he turned around to see Karen, who had the giggles. Today Karen was wearing a pale pink cashmere sweater and black trousers, her hair in a loose, messy ponytail, and she had small rose quartz crystals dangling from her ears and a larger rose quartz cluster pendant, matching her sweater. Sören also noticed she was wearing the barest hint of makeup today, a touch of lip gloss. Being startled would be bad enough on its own, but now he was flustered - she was so pretty, and here he was being a giant dork...  
  
 _OK, could we not notice our TA is pretty? Huh?_  
  
"Jesus." Sören's face burned. "Er, ah..."  
  
"I'm sorry I startled you." Karen grinned. "No need to stop on my account, that was... very entertaining."  
  
Sören's face burned even more. "Oh god, how long were you watching that?"  
  
"Long enough."  
  
Sören facepalmed. "Well, you already knew I was a dork..."  
  
"Yes, but also, you've got a good voice. If you hadn't gone into teaching art, you could have been a blue-eyed soul singer, maybe." Their eyes met. "Well... you've got brown eyes, not blue. But -"  
  
"I knew what you meant." Sören nodded. He did an exaggerated, dorkier version of the dance he was doing, as the song wound down. "I'm pretty fly for a white guy."  
  
"Oh my god." Now Karen facepalmed. "I remember that song."  
  
"I was like..." Sören scrunched his face. "Almost fourteen? When that came out?"  
  
"You heard that over in Iceland?"  
  
"Of course!" Sören was always surprised that people thought Iceland was some remote, exotic place and not as connected to the rest of the world as it was. "It was just before my twin brother went away to Oxford and he was really big into all that pop-punk stuff at the time... The Offspring, Green Day, No Doubt, Blink-182... he was a skateboarder. Actually he still is." He remembered the occasional afternoon when he would accompany Dagnýr to a skate park in Toronto.  
  
"Your twin brother went to Oxford?" Karen asked, blinking slowly. "And he was how old?"  
  
"He went there at age fourteen. He's a genius - well, we both have high IQs but he actually, like, applied himself. I drew stupid cartoons and read a lot rather than trying to do science experiments in the garage and shit." Sören swallowed hard, remembering the awful conflicted feeling when he left for Toronto of missing his brother but finally getting out from his shadow, the feeling that he was a "fuckup" compared to Dag intensified by moving to Canada to stay with him following his breakdown and subsequent descent into some unhealthy behaviors, like occasional cocaine use. Sören hadn't touched that since he'd left Iceland in 2006 but he'd switched to ketamine and ecstasy partying on the weekends in Toronto. Since 2013 he only did pot, and that occasionally. "My brother's an astrophysicist."  
  
"Wow," Karen said, in a hushed, reverent tone.  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. "Wow is right. He's impressive." Sören shrugged. "Me, not so much. He worked on the Large Hadron Collider and has contributed to string theory and I, like... paint fairies and dragons and shit. And teach people to paint."  
  
"That's still important." Karen scowled. "In my humble opinion, art is just as important to the world as science. Just as necessary. Science shows us the truth of what things are... art is the truth of how things feel. Science is the body of the world, art is its soul."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped. His heart skipped a beat. Karen was already pretty to look at and lovely to be around but now, she took his breath away. His mouth went dry. He involuntarily licked his lips, and then just nodded. "That's. That's deep."  
  
"That's deep." _Right after "fairies and dragons and shit." Good going, Doctor. Good. Going._  
  
"I'm babbling, sorry -" Karen looked away.  
  
"No, you're not." That came out more forcefully than Sören intended, and she looked back at him. "No. That's..." Sören swallowed hard. "That was beautiful. Thank you for... your words. I really needed to hear that."  
  
Karen reached out to pat his arm. Her touch sent a jolt through Sören. "I may not know you that well yet, and may not know your family, but don't sell yourself short. It's a joy working with you - you love your students, and they love you right back. What you do, it makes a difference in their lives, and that's so important. In this day and age the world needs the magic of the arts more than ever." Karen looked away, out the window, looking a little wistful. "Art is healing."  
  
"It sure is." Sören nodded, thinking of how his art kept him together over the years. "It feeds that fire, in me."  
  
"I can tell." Karen looked back at him. "You come alive when you teach, and... in the art of yours that I've seen, it's so intense. So much feeling goes into that. It's a calling, I guess you could say, to encourage that, nourish and uphold it - in you, in our students."  
  
" _Takk_ , Karen." Sören smiled.  
  
" _Verði þér að góðu._ " Karen smiled back.  
  
Sören's face lit up. " _Talar þú íslensku_?"  
  
Karen shook her head. " _Bara nokkur orð._ " She smiled again. "Which I've been learning a little of and practicing to use on you, here and there."  
  
"Awwww. I'm touched, but I speak English, you don't have to -"  
  
"What if I want to? A gesture of good will to a colleague?"  
  
"To a friend," Sören said, meeting her eyes.  
  
Karen's smile got bigger. "To a friend."  
  
Karen helped him finish setting up in companionable silence, and then Sören noticed her looking at him with a thoughtful expression, as if she was curious about something.  
  
"Hm?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, you mentioned your brother's taste in music as a teenager... yours was different, I take it? R&B, like what you have on now?"  
  
"I actually got into that when I was a bit older, like late teens, early twenties. When I started, ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Never mind."  
  
Karen snorted, knowing what he was about to say. "We're adults."  
  
"Well, you're a friend but also still a colleague and, you know. I don't want to be creepy -"  
  
"You're not. I'll tell you if that changes."  
  
"Don't just tell me! Punch me, or kick me in the balls," Sören said, and meant it.  
  
Karen laughed.  
  
"Anyway..." Sören said. "Nah, what I listened to as a teenager was..." He bit his lower lip, feeling a little self-conscious. "I was very depressed, moody, growing up, so I had a goth phase. Not this emo shit that kids think is goth these days like My Chemical Romance and whatever but I mean... actual old school goth. Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees. The Cure. The Smiths. Depeche Mode. Cocteau Twins. Dead Can Dance. Bauhaus. Joy Division."  
  
Karen squeaked. "You like Joy Division?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, I love Joy Division," Karen said. "It's so rare to find anyone below a certain age who likes them, these days."  
  
"Well then," Sören said. "I will have to break out my goth playlist for you."  
  
"Yes. Please."  
  
Sören smiled. Already this was turning out to be a good day.  
  
  
_  
  
  
When Sören's classes were over and he was waiting for Dooku, he remembered what he'd forgotten to tell Mark this morning, and sent a text.  
  
 _We got most of my new furniture built last night but the armchair isn't done. I'd ask Nico to help me when he gets out but he already did a lot and I feel bad._  
  
Sören didn't expect a response immediately, since he knew Mark was in the middle of a class, but he still got anxious anyway, worrying that Mark would be annoyed, or worse, think he was a weakling for needing help. But on the ride back home the response came:  
  
 _No problem, I'll put it together for you when I get there._  
  
Sören replied: _You sure you don't mind? I hate asking._  
  
Mark sent back: _It's gonna cost you. One kiss_. With a heart emoji.  
  
 _Only one?_ Sören felt himself grinning, relieved.  
  
Mark replied with: _To start._  
  
As six o'clock approached, Sören felt downright giddy, like he and Mark were going on a first date, even though they'd been together since late July. He'd dressed down once he got home, putting on jeans and a Joy Division shirt to be more comfortable, but he found himself adding a little bit of fragrance, anise with cherry blossom that had a very sexual smell on him with the dry down. He also had in the buttplug, which he'd been wearing all day on campus.  
  
Sören took out his bag of tealights and began to arrange candles on the kitchen table, and then on the dressers in his bedroom, and the bedtable that Dooku had given him back in late January when he found out Seth had thrown the one that used to be by Sören's bed and broken it, right before the accident. So that had been one less piece of furniture to buy. After setting up the candles, with matches ready in the bedroom and kitchen, he decided to migrate the bouquet of a dozen roses that Mark had brought over on Monday night from the kitchen counter to the bedroom. On impulse, Sören took out five of the twelve roses - so there were seven in the vase. One rose he left on the bedtable, and then he pulled down the covers on the bed and scattered rose petals onto the silk sheets, and a trail of rose petals from the bed to the bedroom door. Then he shut the bedroom door behind him as he walked out, to keep Huan out of there.  
  
Sören was waiting at the open front door just as Mark pulled in. Mark came out in a leather jacket, a Def Leppard T-shirt and jeans, carrying Huan's leash with one hand and grocery bags with the other. Mark gave him a kiss at the door and Sören took a couple of the bags from him, bringing them into the kitchen. After Mark took off his jacket and his boots, letting Huan off the leash, he followed Sören into the kitchen and Sören watched as Mark's hair fell to his thighs and his silver aura began to shine.  
  
"That never gets old," Sören remarked.  
  
Mark took a bow. Sören laughed.  
  
"I kind of wish you could, you know. Be like this all the time," Sören said. "Not that you look bad with your hair only to the middle of your back! It's just... this is you."  
  
Mark shrugged. Then he affectionately tousled Sören's curls and tweaked his nose. "Your acceptance means a lot."  
  
Sören gave him a fierce, tight hug, remembering how Mark had told him back in Sausalito that he'd had a few incidences of being rejected by partners or would-be partners, fear and mistrust of the Other. But for Sören, there was only beauty.  
  
And that strange sense of familiarity. Once again, that feeling of My kind. My blood. Sören shoved it away, not wanting to deal with the latest go-round of whether or not he was Fëanor reborn or if he was crazy, and if he was Fëanor, would Mark's love turn to resentment with his current incarnation not measuring up to the glory of what he had been before. Sören was distracted quickly enough, seeing that Mark had brought the makings for chicken marsala, to be served with mushrooms, red potatoes, red and green bell peppers, and a touch of pancetta. "Oh, wow," Sören said. "That's going to be amazing."  
  
"I thought about getting salmon, but I think I'll save that for the next time we get together."  
  
"I look forward to that. You know I love my fish."  
  
"Yes, I know you love your _feesh_ , baby," Mark said, giving Sören a little squeeze, as Sören gave him a glare of mock annoyance - he wasn't actually offended. "And I love the way you say _feesh_. Your accent is so adorable." He leaned in and husked, "So sexy," before stealing a kiss.  
  
When they pulled apart, Sören said, "Your voice is sexy." Sören felt heat rise in him as he thought of the phone sex last night. "Definitely did it for me last night."  
  
Mark laughed. "You too," he said. He rubbed Sören's ass and swatted it. "I love listening to you get all worked up."  
  
They stole another kiss and then Mark said, "Now shoo, since I need to not get distracted while I cook by you being all sexy..."  
  
Sören gave a throaty chuckle, and tweaked the pointy tip of Mark's ear poking out between locks of hair, knowing how sensitive Mark was there. Then he tugged on Mark's sleeve, remembering. "The armchair..."  
  
"Oh shit, that's right. Let me go fix that."  
  
Sören and Mark sat on the living room floor together, Huan curled up nearby, watching as they looked at the IKEA manual. It took under an hour to get the armchair assembled, and then Sören frowned as it went up next to the couch.  
  
"What is it, baby?" Mark asked, putting an arm around him. "Are you triggered..."  
  
"No." Sören pointed at the floor. "I didn't get an ottoman yesterday." He facepalmed.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Jæja, you... kind of need that to put your feet up." Sören pouted. "I'm sorry, Mark."  
  
"Hey, it's no big deal." Mark pulled Sören towards him and planted a kiss on the top of Sören's head, and lingered, rubbing his nose in Sören's curls. He cupped Sören's chin in his hand and made Sören look at him. "Seriously."  
  
"I wanted you to be able to put your feet up and relax..."  
  
"We can do that on the couch for tonight? But in the meantime..." Mark gave Sören a gentle shove towards the couch. "I want you to put your feet up and relax. I'm going to make dinner now."  
  
"Hi Going To Make Dinner Now -"  
  
Mark grabbed Sören's nose, and then he swatted Sören's ass.  
  
Mark had brought a travel container of dog food with him and Huan ran into the kitchen as Mark put out food and water. Then Mark poked his head out of the kitchen and said, "Hey, Sören, honey? If you have any newspaper or old flyers hanging around it might be a good idea to put those down. Huan has been trained to let me know if he needs to go out but I don't want to take any chances."  
  
Sören got up, took some old flyers out of the bin he'd be taking to the recycling can when the bin filled up some more, and spread them out near the back door. Then he climbed back on the couch, and zoned out to a _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ rerun while Mark cooked. He realized as he curled up, Huan cuddled on him, that he wasn't waiting on anyone - the opposite, Mark was handling dinner. Sören wasn't in servitude like he'd been with Seth. And unlike the way Seth had treated him when Sören waited on him, Sören made sure to tell Mark he appreciated him and his tender loving care.  
  
It was a nice feeling. Sören smiled as he rubbed the dog's belly. He definitely was feeling more at home now.  
  
At last dinner was ready, and Sören lit candles at the table. Before he sat down he also put on the stereo, with the living room stereo hooked up to his Pandora playlists. He chose one of more sultry music now, a combination of R&B with some slow, sensual, romantic songs from other genres.  
  
"Well, this is nice," Mark said.  
  
"I'll say," Sören said, looking down at his plate of food. "This is lovely." He reached across the table and took Mark's hands. "You're lovely."  
  
Mark's thumbs stroked Sören's hands, which sent a frisson down Sören's spine. Just the little touches could get Sören worked up. "You're my love."  
  
Sören was tempted to say _fuck dinner_ , grab Mark, and invite Mark to take him on the table, but Mark had gone to all of the trouble to make this and he wasn't sure Huan wouldn't take advantage of the unoccupied food, nor if the new table would hold up with him getting pounded on it.  
  
He couldn't say he had any regrets with going ahead and eating, anyway. Everything Mark cooked was good, and this was another spectacular meal. Sören complimented profusely and Mark smiled over his glass of wine.  
  
"I'll do dishes since you cooked," Sören said, getting up to clear the table.  
  
"No," Mark said, still sitting, holding out an arm as Sören walked past. "I won't stop you if you want to do that down the road but for tonight..." Mark looked up at him. "I want to be the one to wait on you."  
  
Mark, of course, knew how Seth had treated Sören.  
  
Sören felt an ache - in a good way - and a flutter, touched by the little ways Mark showed his love. Sören put his arms around Mark and just held him for a moment. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I love you too." Mark reached up to stroke Sören's face. He took Sören's hand and kissed it. Then he swatted Sören's ass. "Go. Relax. I'll be there soon."  
  
Sören took a detour to the bathroom, and when he returned to the living room he was carrying a hairbrush. Playing with Mark's hair was one of his favorite things, and Mark liked it too - Mark's enjoyment of it, and the way he melted to it, was the least Sören could do for him tonight.  
  
When Mark came out from the kitchen, he joined Sören on the couch. He pulled Sören's legs up and onto his lap, and began to rub Sören's feet. Sören moaned, soothed and aroused all at once by Mark's long, elegant fingers kneading, hitting all his pressure points just right so relief flooded his body. Sören's moans and sighs brought heat to Mark's eyes, and Mark's touch and the look of lust on Mark's face made his cock wake up.  
  
After Mark was done rubbing Sören's feet, Sören reached for the hairbrush on the coffee table - another item that Dooku had replaced months ago, the previous one something Seth had trashed in one of his fits. Sören pulled Mark close, and it was Mark's turn to moan and sigh as Sören brushed his hair. There was so much of it, and Sören lost himself in it, the beautiful blue-black color, the clean, woodsy scent, the silky texture. "You're so gorgeous," Sören husked. "A living work of art."  
  
Mark blushed. He gave Sören a little kiss. "You're beautiful too, baby." He took the brush from Sören and began to brush Sören's curls, playing with them, rubbing his nose in Sören's hair, kissing the curly locks.  
  
"Oh, Mark. I'm just this guy. You're like a god."  
  
Mark glared. "Not this shit again."  
  
Sören sighed.  
  
"Do you know how hard I came thinking about you last night?" Mark asked. "You. The very clear mental image of you in my head." He ran a hand through Sören's curls, stroked Sören's beard, traced the full lips with his thumb, which Sören found himself sucking on, making Mark groan. "I really, really wish I could get it through that thick, stubborn skull of yours that I find you exquisite. It's like what's here..." He placed a hand on Sören's heart. "Was made manifest." He stroked Sören's face again.  
  
"I'm sorry. I know I angst a lot -"  
  
"And I know you've had a lot of shit thrown at you. A lot of people tearing you down." Mark leaned in and kissed him. It was a deep, passionate kiss, one that Sören thrilled to, moaning, his body coming alive even more. "But now..." Mark rained little kisses over Sören's face, making him giggle, also making him even harder. "Now, I want to help build you back up." Mark's hand strayed to the bulge in Sören's jeans. "I think we've already started on up." Mark grinned.  
  
"I think so." Sören grinned back. Then Sören came closer and whispered, "You said you wanted a kiss for building the armchair."  
  
"Yes, I want a _kees_." Mark kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I will collect my _kees_ now, _elskan mín_."  
  
Sören nipped Mark's nose. "Butt."  
  
"So are you."  
  
They kissed. One kiss became two, and Mark pushed him down on the couch. And this time, Sören wasn't triggered by the memory of Seth. This was a brand new couch. A brand new chapter of his life. A new dawn. Mark was all that existed, hard cocks grinding together through their jeans as their tongues teased, hands roamed, fingers played.  
  
It was starting to get too warm in the living room. Sören thought about taking it to the bedroom but he didn't want to get up just yet - wanted to relish this newfound pleasure of making out with Mark on the couch. Sören pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the coffee table. Mark grabbed him and kissed him harder, fingers walking over Sören's bare skin. When Mark began to rub his nipples, kissing and licking his neck, Sören's moans got louder. And louder still when Mark bent his head to lap at one, Mark groaning, grinding more insistently as his tongue licked the nipple into an aching peak.  
  
 _You're ruling the way that I move  
And I breathe your air  
You only can rescue me  
This is my prayer  
If you were mine  
If you were mine  
I wouldn't want to go to heaven  
  
I cherish the day  
I won't go astray  
I won't be afraid  
You won't catch me running  
You're ruling the way that I move  
You take my air  
  
You show me how deep love can be_  
  
Mark had Sade on the night he seduced Sören, back in Sausalito. Her husky contralto in the background would have been right for the mood anyway, but now it added poignancy, a callback to the first time they made love. This would be the first time they made love at Sören's house. Sören sighed, playing with Mark's hair, wanting to rest in this moment as long as possible.  
  
He cried out when Mark's tongue laved the other nipple, his fingers rolling and plucking and pinching the nipple he'd just licked and suckled. Sören cried out again as Mark tugged the ring with his thumb and finger, before Mark took his mouth off the other nipple and tugged that ring with his teeth, then resumed lapping.  
  
"Oh god, Mark..." Sören bucked against him, rubbing back at him. "Mark..."  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmm." Mark went back to the first nipple, licking around and around the aerole, licking the nub more slowly than before. Sucking it harder. Then tongue lashing it faster. He suckled again. "Mmmmmmm." His eyes met Sören's as he licked. "I really, really wanted to do this to you last night."  
  
"You weren't kidding."  
  
"This is what I mean, baby." Mark went to the other nipple, teasing with slow, deliberate circles around the aerole, then slow, deliberate brush strokes back and forth on the hard nub. "When I tell you I find you exquisite. Delicious." His voice got lower, huskier, sexier. "You say I'm like a god, but it's you I want to worship, Sören." He sucked the nipple, groaning as Sören cried out again, pulling his hair.  
  
Sören pulled Mark up to kiss him. Their kisses were deep, hungry. They moaned into each kiss, and Mark's fingers and thumbs continued to play with Sören's nipples. When Mark's lips and tongue made their way down Sören's neck, Sören felt like he was dangerously close to coming.  
  
Kate Bush purred in the background:  
  
 _To where the water and the earth caress  
And the down of a peach says mmh, yes,  
Do I look for those millionaires  
Like a Machiavellian girl would  
When I could wear a sunset? mmh, yes,  
  
And how we'd wished to live in the sensual world  
You don't need words--just one kiss, then another.  
  
Stepping out of the page into the sensual world  
Stepping out, off the page, into the sensual world._  
  
Their eyes met. Sören pleaded with his eyes, and found his words. "Take me to bed."  
  
They kissed until the song finished, then Mark was the one to turn off the stereo. They got up from the couch - Sören was shaking, breathless. Sören glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mark had snuffed out the tealights on the kitchen table as Mark began pulling him towards the bedroom. Then the little lightbulb went off in Sören's head and he got ahead of Mark and made a "wait here" gesture. Mark gave him a suspicious look as Sören went off to the bedroom.  
  
Sören lit the candles, shucked the rest of his clothing, and then stepped out, gesturing for Mark to come in.  
  
Mark took it in: the vase of roses by the bed, the single red rose left on the bedtable, the rose petals scattered on the floor, on the sheets, the candles burning around the bedroom.  
  
"Oh, Sören." Mark's breath caught.  
  
"I. Ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. It was such a romantic cliche, but he was a secret romantic at heart. "Wanted this to be special for you."  
  
"It would have been special anyway, but..." Mark put his arms around Sören's waist, pulled Sören towards him and kissed the top of his head. "You're so sweet." Their eyes met.  
  
Sören helped Mark undress, and when they were both naked, standing in front of the dressers, they held each other, kissing, hard cocks rubbing together. Then Mark noticed the mirror out of the corner of his eye, and Sören noticed him noticing.  
  
"You didn't get that at IKEA," Mark observed.  
  
"No. That was a gift."  
  
"It's gorgeous." Mark ran his thumb around the glittery wooden edge, the floral carving.  
  
"It really is."  
  
Mark grabbed Sören and brought him closer to the mirror. "And we're gorgeous in it." He came behind Sören, and Sören watched in the mirror as Mark wrapped his arms around him, one hand playing with Sören's hard, dripping cock, the other caressing Sören's chest and stomach. Sören reached his arms up and around Mark's neck. "We're beautiful together, my love."  
  
Sören couldn't deny that they made a nice-looking couple. Mark was playing with Sören's nipple rings again, then his fingers traced the ink on his arms, before playing with the nipple rings some more. As Mark's fingers stroked, Mark kissed and licked Sören's neck, glancing occasionally into the mirror, eyes hooded with desire. Sören's cock got harder, watching the sensual play between them.  
  
"Here, baby." Mark took Sören's hands then. "Let's break in the new bed... and watch ourselves together."  
  
A frisson went down Sören's spine, his cock twinging, and his hole twitched around the buttplug. Sören climbed on the bed and Mark gently guided Sören into position, so Sören was laying on his stomach, with his head at the foot of the bed. He folded his arms and rested his head, wiggling his ass when Mark got on behind him.  
  
They watched in the mirror as Mark kissed, licked and nibbled the back of Sören's neck and shoulders, grinding against him. Sören moaned at his kisses - breaking out in gooseflesh - and the feel of Mark's hard cock rubbing in the crack of his ass. His moans got louder as he watched Mark kissing his back, tracing the tattoos on his back with his tongue and fingers, then kissing and licking down his spine. When Mark pulled the plug out of Sören's ass and began rimming him right there in the mirror, Sören screamed, and Mark growled into him, slapping Sören's ass, then rubbing it. Sören couldn't get over how hot Mark's face was in his ass, watching him kissing it, the sensual enjoyment visible on Mark's face, loving to give as much as Sören loved to receive.  
  
Before Sören could come from Mark's tongue, Mark was kissing his back again, and Sören watched as Mark poured lube into him, fingers working in and out of him as Mark's kisses on his neck and back got hungrier, more insistent, Mark nibbling and nipping now.  
  
At last Mark got on his knees behind Sören, and Sören lifted his ass a little. They both moaned as they watched the obscene sight of Mark taking him, pushing into him slowly, Sören's passage kissing Mark's cock. When Mark was buried to the hilt, they moaned again.  
  
They put on a good performance, Mark holding Sören's hips as he slammed in and out of him, Sören's hips rocking back against Mark's. Sören loved watching Mark's body, the almost-angry look of lust on his face as he took, harder and faster. Sören loved watching himself, curls disheveled, face flushed, pupils blown wide, a wild look in his eyes, panting, in complete surrender to pleasure and hunger and desire. He looked so wanton, a far cry from the days Seth had forced him on the old bed and complained he was "a dead fish".  
  
Mark saw it too. He grabbed a fistful of Sören's curls as he thrust harder. "Look at you. I love watching you in the throes of passion, like this."  
  
Their moans got louder, the bed rocking against the wall as Mark drove into him and Sören gave it right back. The slap of their flesh competed with Sören's broken cries, his desperate, frenzied litany of "more, more, _more_ , fuck me, Mark, _fuck me_ , get it, take it, fuck me, claim me, more, Mark, _more_!"  
  
Mark answered with deep grunts and growls, shuddering gasps, panting, occasional slaps at Sören's ass.  
  
"Oh god..." Sören grabbed the covers for dear life, white-knuckled. "Oh god, oh Mark, oh god that's so good... more, more, I need this, I need it, more, don't stop, fuck me, FUCK ME!"  
  
"Sören." Mark shivered, and let out a wordless groan. "I'm almost there, baby."  
  
"Oh god." Sören was almost sobbing now, close to orgasm himself. "Oh god. Mark. Mark. Fuck me. Fuck me, don't you fucking stop, I need this so fucking bad, need your big fucking cock to tear my ass up..."  
  
"Sören." Mark made a menacing growl. "Sören." His eyelashes fluttered; Sören could feel him tensing, slamming away as hard as he could.  
  
Sören gave a high-pitched whimper, and a deeper, husky moan. "Mark. Oh god. Ohgodohgod Mark... Mark..." Sören felt himself bearing down, tension about to explode. "Right there right there right there oh fuck ohfuckohfuckohfuck -"  
  
"Sören." Mark growled again. "Sören. Come with me." He grabbed Sören's hand and squeezed. "Come, my love."  
  
They shouted together as they shattered, Mark collapsing onto him, panting as he trembled and twitched. Sören moaned with each contraction, his cock and ass both throbbing as the tension spiraled out of him and gave way to bliss. Sören sighed, and Mark cupped Sören's chin, the two of them breathing each other's breath just before a kiss. But before they kissed they glanced into the mirror and Sören's breath caught at the sight of them, both of them smiling with joy, looking triumphant, radiant.  
  
Sören kissed him as hard as he could. Mark kissed him back, matching passion for passion. Enough passion that Sören's body started up again, wanting more.  
  
Mark knew it, too. He pulled out of Sören, and pulled Sören into his arms. "Ready for round two?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
They kissed again, and Mark lay back, pulling Sören down with him.  
  
When they were finished hours later, laying side by side, spent, giggling at nothing in the afterglow, Huan came into the bedroom, whining.  
  
"Ah shit, he needs to go out," Mark said.  
  
Sören pouted, but he understood. Mark quickly pulled on his clothes. "I'll be back in a few minutes," Mark said. Sören heard Mark get Huan's leash on the way out.  
  
Sören lay there, dazed - the tealights had burned out already, and the nightlight glowed. He knew he needed to get up to take his night meds, but he didn't want to get out of the warm nest just yet. Or at all, his bones still feeling liquid from all the orgasms.  
  
And then his cell phone went off.  
  
Sören thought about getting up to answer it, wondering if it was important - someone in his family, maybe a family emergency, Sören thought with a prickle of worry. But then the deep, deep relaxation post-orgasms settled back in and Sören closed his eyes, letting the phone go to voice mail. Whoever or whatever it was, he'd deal with it tomorrow. And he'd ask Mark to bring his meds, which Mark had done many times in Sausalito.  
  
It was nice to feel so cozy and safe in his own bed.


	4. Room For The Life

Sören woke to the feeling of something rubbing on his face, rubbing on his nose, tickling it. The scent of a rose.  
  
He opened his eyes and saw Mark smiling at him, holding the single long-stemmed rose that Sören had kept out on the bedtable apart from the remaining seven roses of the bouquet. Mark continued to rub the rose against Sören's cheek and then rubbed it on Sören's nose again, making him giggle. Sören glanced over at the time and it was an hour before his alarm was to go off.  
  
"I'd normally let you sleep till then," Mark husked, raining little kisses over Sören's face, "but something tells me you weren't going to mind." With that, his free hand took Sören's and guided it down to his hard cock, while the rose brushed down Sören's neck to his chest, rubbing against a nipple.  
  
Sören was already sporting a healthy morning erection but now it jolted to life, and Mark laughed softly as he felt Sören's cock spring up, ready to play. "Mmmmmmm." With his own cock firmly in Sören's hand, Mark cupped Sören's chin and kissed him deeply, then began kissing Sören's neck as the rose resumed teasing Sören's nipple.  
  
"Oh, fuck." Sören shuddered.  
  
Mark smiled, a mischievous look in his eyes, before he nibbled on Sören's neck. He kissed Sören's neck more insistently, licked it, licked his throat, kissed and licked the sweet spot where the neck and shoulder meet... and Sören felt Mark's hard cock rub up against his.  
  
"Oh, fuuuuuuuckkkk..." Sören's breath hitched, his nails digging into Mark's hips.  
  
The rose brushed the other nipple, Mark leaning in to take a lick at the nipple that he'd just finished teasing. He lapped and suckled at the nipple while the rose continued to rub the other.  
  
"Oh, FUCK!" Sören bucked against him.  
  
Mark went back and forth between Sören's nipples, licking, sucking, nibbling one as the rose caressed the other. After a few rounds of this his fingers and thumb played with one as the rose brushed the other, as Mark claimed Sören's mouth again. The soft rose petals and the feather-light touch of the bloom drove Sören crazy, whimpering into each kiss, grinding back on Mark as Mark's cock continued to slide against his.  
  
After doing this for awhile Mark leaned up, and Sören sucked Mark's index and middle fingers, Mark watching him closely as he dragged the rose along Sören's body in achingly slow strokes, whispering over his chest, stomach, down one hip and thigh and knee, and back up the other. Sören's cock dripped precum, throbbing, and every now and again Mark would dive down to take a few licks at the head of Sören's cock, lapping up the precum, making a show of streamers between Sören's cock and his tongue.  
  
It was deliciously sensual - nobody had ever made love to Sören like this before. Sören was tempted to call out from school and just spend all day in bed letting Mark tease him, but if nothing else Huan had to go to training. So eventually, Sören began to urge Mark on, and after letting him beg for awhile, Mark finally took Sören, with Sören laying on his back, letting out a "yes" when Mark was all the way inside.  
  
Mark rested there for a moment, the two of them looking into each other's eyes. Sören hoped Mark could see the trust in his eyes, just as he could see the love and desire in Mark's own. Sören reached up to stroke Mark's face, reached to tuck a lock of hair behind the pointy ear and stroke the tip as if to say _I accept you as you are_. And then Mark took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him hard, taking his first few thrusts, slow and sweet. When they pulled apart, lips lingering, Sören whispered, "I love you."  
  
Mark put one hand on Sören's heart, and pet Sören's curls with the other. He kissed the top of Sören's head, rested his face in Sören's curls for a moment, rubbing his nose in them, before bringing his head back down so Sören could see his face again. "I love you too."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to grab Mark and kiss him. They kissed and kissed, Mark thrusting slowly, Mark's hands running over Sören's body.  
  
For all the sweet, slow, languid pace of their lovemaking, the tenderness between them, their kisses were hungry, like they were trying to devour each other. Eventually, hungry kisses gave way to harder thrusts, and Sören matching Mark's rhythm, rocking his hips back at him, crying out for more. Sören's frantic pleas brought out the animal in Mark, fucking hard, bed slamming against the wall, the slap of Mark's balls almost as loud as Sören's screams and Mark's deep, primal grunts and growls.  
  
Just before they could come, Mark slowed down, letting them hang on that edge, panting, trembling. Mark grabbed the rose again and let it play over Sören's body, Sören sucking the fingers of his free hand again, howling around them. Mark shivered with each slow thrust, clearly tormenting himself as much as he was tormenting Sören. But it was luscious, exquisite torture, Sören's body electrified, as sensitized as it had ever been. And when Mark finally gave in, pulling Sören close to him and pounding him hard, Sören roared as his orgasm crashed through him, almost sobbed as his body sang, cock and prostate pulsing together, contractions like a force of nature.  
  
"Mark," Sören cried out. "Oh god, Mark... Mark, I love you... Mark, _elskan mín, ástin mín_..."  
  
"Sören." Mark's orgasm was right behind. "Sören! I love you, Sören, _dýrmætur, elsku strákurinn minn_...."  
  
Mark gasped for breath as he shook, still spending into him, and finally, made soft moans and sighs as his body quieted. Mark twitched at the occasional little aftershock, which made Sören giggle.  
  
They held each other in that sweet space of afterglow, a little place for the two of them to just be, perfectly safe and content, lost in their love for each other. Sören didn't want to get up, just wanted to lay in Mark's arms, their legs entwined, listening to Mark's heartbeat, breathing each other's breath. But he looked at the clock and they really needed to start getting ready. And on top of this, now Huan was making "need to go out" noises.  
  
Mark pulled clothes on. "I'd take you to school, but -"  
  
Sören nodded. "You have to bring Huan to service dog class. It's OK, Nico and I have a routine and I didn't call him to change plans."  
  
They lingered at the door, hugging and kissing, and then Huan whined again. Mark patted Sören's back. "My place tonight?" Mark asked.  
  
Sören nodded. "Seven OK?"  
  
"Seven works for me." Mark grinned. "I'll make you _feesh_." He tousled Sören's curls, and called out "Love you!" as he was off.  
  
Sören scrambled to get ready, taking a quick shower. The buttplug felt raunchier than usual with how well-used he was, and Sören tried to rein in the shit-eating grin on his face before he left the house, feeling like his face gave too much away.  
  
Then he remembered that his phone went off last night, and just before he could step out the door to walk over to Dooku's, he decided he better check the phone in case it was the school calling or even Dooku calling.  
  
It was neither. Sören's eyes widened when he saw the name attached to the number: Sharon, a girl he'd met in Sausalito over the summer and had came very close to sleeping with, turning her down when he realized she was too under the influence to consent. Sharon, a lifelong resident of the Bay Area, was seeking her fortune up the coast, and Sören had told her to get in touch with him when she'd settled in somewhere. There had been more flirting on their last encounter, and the prospect of becoming friends with benefits with Sharon was what prompted Sören to want to have a talk with Mark about an open relationship - if it hadn't been Sharon it would eventually be someone else, as Sören had an appreciation for beauty and a wandering eye. Sören hadn't had that discussion yet with Mark because the relationship was still new enough that he had concerns rocking the boat. But they were also approaching the point where Sören couldn't use that excuse much longer, and he knew it was probably better in the long run if he opened up about his difficulty with monogamy sooner rather than later.  
  
He listened to Sharon's voice mail. "Hi, Sören! This is Sharon Walker, that girl from the Bay Area you sort of messed around with over the summer. I'm calling to let you know I'm up in Portland, I have a place now, and I'd really like to see you again. Plus you still have that notebook with my stories, and I've written more lately that maybe you might want to take a look at. Anyway... give me a call and let me know when you'd like to get together. Weekends are best for me but there's some wiggle room. Hope you're doing well, bye!"  
  
Sören thought about calling her back right away but he checked himself because it was still fairly early in the morning and he didn't know what kind of hours she kept, plus he needed to go over to Dooku's for his ride, plus he felt he needed to have The Non-Monogamy Talk with Mark before he called Sharon, in the interest of fairness to all three of them. So he would wait.  
  
Just before he could knock on Dooku's door, Dooku opened it. He was already ready, in a trenchcoat and fedora over his usual suit and tie. It was only early October but it was already brisk, though Sören was fine in a light jacket.  
  
"Good morning," Sören said.  
  
Dooku just gave a nod, did not even say "good morning" back. Sören raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  
  
They got in the Jaguar. The drive was awkward silence and Dooku kept his eyes on the road. Dooku looked fairly disgruntled, and Sören thought about asking if something was wrong, but knew from experience sometimes if something was wrong, asking made it worse.  
  
It was when Dooku pulled into the Starbucks drive-thru, as he sometimes did, and actually ordered coffee for himself - black, two sugars - that Sören finally had to say something. Dooku went to Starbucks more for Sören, as Dooku didn't like their coffee generally, complaining it tasted burnt. Dooku would order something like a hot chocolate sometimes, but not usually in the morning first thing. So the fact that Dooku was getting coffee here gave Sören pause.  
  
"You OK?" Sören asked. He noticed the tightness and weariness in Dooku's face. "Rough night?"  
  
Dooku waited till they had their coffee in hand and were back on the road to respond. "I heard you."  
  
It took Sören a few seconds to get what he meant. Sören facepalmed so hard he spilled coffee on himself. "Oh. _Oh god_."  
  
"Yes, there was rather a lot of that," Dooku quipped.  
  
Sören facepalmed harder. He ran his hand over his face, over his mouth, and cleared his throat, his face burning. "Er."  
  
"Er indeed." Dooku sipped his coffee, still looking mildly irritated.  
  
"I. Ah. I'm sorry." Sören wasn't sorry for the wonderful sex he'd had with Mark, but he felt bad that Dooku's rest had been disturbed by it. "I'm going to Mark's house tonight. And, ah... we'll, ah, keep it down next time." Sören had doubts in their ability to do that, since he and Mark were both screamers.  
  
"You shan't, so I will invest in a pair of earplugs." Dooku sipped his coffee again, brow furrowed.  
  
"I. Ah." Sören facepalmed again. "This is so awkward."  
  
"Quite."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Dooku said nothing else for the rest of their journey to the Oregon State University campus, and Sören wanted to crawl in the nearest hole in the ground and die when they got there.  
  
Sören tried to not let it bother him, or at least not enough where his students could see it, but when their break rolled around, before Sören could exit the classroom Karen said, "Hey Sören, got a minute?"  
  
Sören took a few steps backward and turned to face Karen. Today she was in a light blue blouse with darker blue slacks, hair worn loose, a multi-strand lapis beaded necklace. He liked the way the blue went with the blue of her eyes. "Jæja?"  
  
"Are you OK?" Karen folded her arms.  
  
Sören neither wanted to lie to her nor did he want to get into the intimate details of his personal life. "Not really," he said.  
  
"Something you can talk about?"  
  
Sören searched for words that would satisfy Karen's helper instinct without going into awkward territory. "I think I may have pissed off my best friend."  
  
Karen clearly wasn't expecting that, blinking, her eyes widening. "Oh."  
  
Sören nodded. "I can't get too much into it, but he's annoyed with me right now." Sören frowned.  
  
"Well... is it something unforgivable? Or -"  
  
"Probably something minor. More of a nuisance. It's just..." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "He's been really, really nice to me and I feel like I'm already inconveniencing him a lot without, ah... also being a pain in his ass. Which apparently I was. I apologized already but, I don't know. He needs something more."  
  
"Mmm." Karen nodded.  
  
Then the lightbulb went off over Sören's head. "I was going to get him a thank-you present anyway for something he did for me, but now I might as well get off my ass and do that today." Then Sören frowned again. "Shit. He drives me to and from school, and I don't want to ruin the surprise, so I guess I'll take the bus or an Uber -"  
  
"I can drive you?" Karen cocked her head to one side.  
  
"I don't want to be a burden -"  
  
"No, you won't be. I wouldn't offer if it was going to be a problem."  
  
"You sure you want a crazy guy in your car?"  
  
"I don't know, that might be fun." Karen grinned.  
  
Sören grinned too. "OK. Well... thank you. I, ah. I insist on giving you gas money -"  
  
"No need."  
  
"I said I insist." Sören rubbed his chin. "This is a guy who has everything. Do you have any suggestions of what to get him?"  
  
"I don't know, but I myself always appreciate sweets."  
  
"He works out..." _Boy, does he ever._ Sören's mind immediately recalled the majesty of Dooku shirtless, sweaty, working on putting together furniture. "And he tries to eat well, but he has made me baked goods before..."  
  
"A little indulgence now and again is good for the soul."  
  
"Well then... what kind of sweets do you like? I like things like licorice but that's a Scandinavian thing and more of an acquired taste."  
  
"I like fudge," Karen offered.  
  
"Hm. OK. I don't know where around here sells fudge -"  
  
"I do. Because I needed to know that shortly after I arrived here." Karen gave a sheepish little smile. "So I'll take you to get fudge. The candy shop is right in the same plaza as a drugstore where I need to run a few errands, anyway."  
  
"OK, so we'll do that. Thank you, Karen."  
  
"You're welcome." Karen beamed.  
  
Sören thought about calling Dooku's cell to let him know he didn't need a ride home this one time, but then he realized it might be better to explain that in person, so he began to walk across campus, and it was a bit of a walk. He arrived at Dooku's classroom just as Dooku was ducking out of it, and Dooku paused in his tracks, once again tensing up around Sören.  
  
"Hi," Sören said.  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hello."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Salutations."  
  
Sören chuckled. Then he said, "Where you headed, canteen?"  
  
Dooku nodded.  
  
"Walk with you," Sören offered.  
  
Dooku nodded.  
  
They walked together in that direction. "So, ah, I'm sorry, again..." Sören said.  
  
"Sören, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather you not keep bringing it up." Dooku's brow furrowed, his face tightening once more. "Let's just... forget that happened."  
  
"All right. Well anyway... I'm getting a ride home from someone else today."  
  
Dooku stopped walking, and he glared at Sören. "You needn't go out of your way to avoid me -"  
  
"It's not that." Sören shook his head. "I need their opinion on something I'm buying." That wasn't a lie, nor was it entirely the truth, but it would suffice.  
  
"I see. And you're... going to Mark's later."  
  
"Why don't you come over for a bit before then? I leave at 7, I should be home by 5. Or I can go to your place. Whichever."  
  
"You can come over," Dooku said. "Besides, I laundered that new bedding, I have to give it to you sometime."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
And then, as if things hadn't been awkward enough, a couple students passed by, glancing at them, and Sören heard one of them say to the other, "Oh yeah, they _FUCKIN'_."  
  
Sören hoped to god Dooku didn't hear that, not wanting to pour gasoline on the fire. Sören's face burned. It was not the first time people had assumed they were a couple, though it was the first time Sören had heard that assumption made within earshot on campus. It wasn't a secret that Dooku drove Sören to and from school, Sören having been seen getting in and out of his car, and they not-infrequently took breaks together when their schedules aligned, and there was a familiarity they had with each other when their paths crossed on campus that Dooku didn't allow most people. These things, Sören knew, could look like a relationship to people. But it wasn't.  
  
We're just friends. Sören felt that little ache again, the one that crept in from time to time, remembering earlier in the year when he had hoped it would be more. He'd let those hopes die, when Dooku gave no sign of being interested. And it had been months. They were all they were ever going to be to each other and that was that. Sören didn't want to torment himself.  
  
But comments like that reminded him of when he had entertained those hopes. And today of all days, when he'd potentially strained that friendship with causing a sound nuisance - as he had once done with his music - he did not need that ache in his chest.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Karen Swanson drove a sensible white Toyota Corolla, and Sören's nostrils twitched at the pleasant vanilla air freshener.  
  
Sören felt a little nervous about riding with her, for a few reasons. His accident last December had made him hyperconscious of road safety - Mark and Dooku were good drivers and he felt safe in a vehicle with them, riding with a stranger made him wary, even though he knew Karen had a good head on her shoulders and wasn't likely to engage in reckless or negligent driving. He also didn't want students to gossip - as clearly now some students were gossiping about him and Dooku - and he worried about inadvertently saying or doing something that would make Karen feel uncomfortable.  
  
But, Karen's smile as she got in the driver's seat put him more at ease. Sören smiled back.  
  
"Where do you live?" Karen asked.  
  
Sören gave her the street address.  
  
"Oh, that's a nice part of town! And actual houses, yeah?" Karen glanced over at Sören, who nodded. "You rent or own?"  
  
"Rent," Sören said. "I live next door to Professor Dooku, and he owns."  
  
"Oh!" Karen's eyes widened, putting two and two together. "When you said that you pissed off your best friend, and he drives you to and from school, and a couple days ago you mentioned he's the one who drives you... he's your best friend?"  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. "Since December, thereabouts. We've lived next door to each other longer than that but it's really only been since then that we've been close friends."  
  
"You must have a bit of a story."  
  
"Jæja, it's... kind of a long story." Sören breathed a little sigh.  
  
"Well, we've got time."  
  
"And I've got issues." Sören gave a nervous laugh.  
  
Karen looked a bit stung by that, and Sören felt bad - he hadn't wanted to come off as defensive, or wanting to shut down friendly interest. He explained, "It's a bit of a tragic backstory on my part and it's one of those things I'm uncomfortable telling people I don't know well."  
  
"It's related to the accident, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it was."  
  
Karen raised an eyebrow. "Were you drinking? On drugs?"  
  
"No." Sören frowned. He felt a little annoyed that was her first assumption, but on the other hand he couldn't blame her because in many cases it was that which caused an accident, especially in December when holiday season arrived and with it people tended to drink more. "It would have been better if that was why, honestly. The cause of the accident was far worse."  
  
Karen's eyes widened, and a moment of silence passed, as if Karen understood somehow that whatever it was, was pretty bad. Then finally she patted his arm - Sören felt gooseflesh under his jacket and long-sleeved shirt - and she said, softly, "Well, if you ever do want to talk about it, I'll listen. I know a few things about tragic backstories myself."  
  
"I appreciate that." Sören winced. "I mean, the offer to listen, not that you've seen some shit too." He realized that "old soul" feeling to her was probably the touch of grief - something he understood quite well.  
  
"I knew what you meant."  
  
There was a few more moments of quiet, and then Sören said, "I hope when you bring me home it isn't going to be too out of the way for you."  
  
"I live on the opposite end of town -"  
  
"Oh shit, really?" Sören frowned, feeling a pang of guilt.  
  
"Yeah." Karen told him the name of the street. "In the apartment complex."  
  
Sören went from guilt over her travel distance to the "it's a small world" feeling. He laughed softly. "Oh my god, I was there before I moved to where I am now. That was my first apartment out here. With the beds in the wall... what do you call them... Murphy beds?"  
  
Karen nodded.  
  
"Jesus," Sören said. "That's a blast from the past."  
  
"It's a nice place," Karen said. "The rent's not too bad."  
  
"Já, it's very decent. I'd still be there, but I wanted a yard, a little more space." _A little more of a feeling like I had a home like a responsible adult, instead of just a place to crash._ Sören smiled at the feeling of nostalgia over when he first moved into his house, how good it felt to finally do something so grownup, after being seen as the family fuckup for years. It had made Seth ruining it all the more bitter... but he was reclaiming that space again, thanks to Mark, and Dooku.  
  
"We're here," Karen said, pointing to the shopping plaza they were about to turn into.  
  
Karen took him to the candy shop first, and Sören's eyes widened, giving a little exuberant squeak and clapping at the wall-to-wall candy.  
  
"You're like, well... a kid in a candy store," Karen said.  
  
"I've never been in a candy store before."  
  
Karen gave him a little swat, which sent a frisson down Sören's spine. His face burned, not wanting to react to her touch this way. "Are you bloody serious?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Afraid so." Sören started walking around, feeling almost a little overwhelmed at all the different varieties. "Wow," he said in a hushed tone of voice.  
  
"Do they not have candy stores in Iceland?"  
  
"I'm sure they do, but when I was growing up we, ah, didn't have a lot of money." _What there was would have gone to liquor, not candy,_ Sören thought to himself bitterly, remembering Katrín and Einar's hard drinking. And they were violent drunks. "Then I went through a bit of a health nut phase when I was a med student..."  
  
"You were a med student?"  
  
Part of the past Sören didn't like talking about, but here it was. "Made it up to my internship. I, ah." Sören looked down. "Couldn't handle people dying. Anyway, when I was in Toronto, it didn't occur to me to try to find a candy store. This is a nice little discovery. Of course, now I want to try everything." Before he could stop himself, Sören found himself blurting out, "That seems to be part of my problem in life... I want to try everything." He thought about all the sex he'd had with women and men over the years, and the beautiful Karen in close proximity to him was reminding him that he hadn't had sex with a woman since he lived in Canada, and he was starting to feel that itch again. He really wanted Sharon to scratch it, remembering her bright blue eyes, fuzzy blonde dreadlocks, her tan lines, the small, pert breasts with pink nipples he'd enjoyed sucking on before he'd found out she was too intoxicated to consent that night and had gone home sexually frustrated out of his mind. He hoped Mark wasn't going to pitch a fit when he told him.  
  
Sören felt an icy hand claw his stomach. If he hadn't already had the tension with Dooku this morning, he'd be more willing to talk to Mark about an open relationship tonight. But he'd reached his limit for awkward conversations for the day, so he was going to have to put it aside till tomorrow. But not later than that. Not just because of the possibility of seeing Sharon soon - naked - but also because the longer Sören waited to tell him, the more he was going to feel like he was being dishonest in some way.  
  
 _And of course you still haven't told him about your suspicion that you're Fëanor,_ Sören's inner critic nagged.  
  
 _That's like defusing a fucking bomb, and I am still not ready for that._ Sören felt his face scowling.  
  
"You OK?" Karen put a hand on his shoulder. Again, Karen's touch sent a shockwave through him. "I've never seen anybody look that irritated at jellybeans before."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. "It's not that. My brain likes to remind me of stuff at inconvenient times. And jellybeans?" Sören decided he wanted a bag for himself.  
  
Making another round of the candy shop, Karen led Sören towards a selection of containers of fudge, many different flavors. "Here's the fudge I suggested."  
  
"Ooooh. That looks good."  
  
"Do you know what kind of flavors he likes? That could help narrow it down."  
  
Sören glanced around. Then he picked up a container of dark chocolate cherry fudge. "He'd probably like this. When he occasionally indulges himself, he likes cherries and he prefers dark chocolate to regular chocolate." _His eyes are like dark chocolate_. Sören felt a little flutter in his stomach and immediately smacked that thought away.  
  
Sören didn't stop there. After selecting the dark chocolate cherry fudge for Dooku, he grabbed a container of peanut butter fudge to share with Mark, and then he said to Karen, "What do you like?"  
  
"Everything," Karen said.  
  
 _Mind, gutter._ Sören did not want to have debauched mental images of his teaching assistant.  
  
"If I had to narrow it down, caramel fudge is always lovely," Karen said.  
  
"Well then." Sören picked up a container of that too, and lugged his haul to the cash register.  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson, you do not have to buy me anything," Karen said.  
  
Sören shrugged. "You're a joy to work with - you don't know how relieved I am that I got a nice TA, not a pain in my ass - and it was kind of you to drive me out of your way today. I still insist on giving you gas money."  
  
"But -"  
  
"No buts."  
  
Karen huffed, but her eyes were twinkling, and her glare became a grin.  
  
After the candy shop, Karen had to go to the drugstore as she'd said earlier. Sören considered waiting in the car, but he decided going in wouldn't hurt. As Karen went off to pick up whatever she needed, Sören took the opportunity to stock up on extra lube - he and Mark went through a lot of lube - and then Sören's eyes caught a display of bubble solution. When he had been very young, when his mamma was still alive, he remembered blowing bubbles, how much it delighted him to watch the rainbows in the bubbles, watch them float on the wind. He and Dag had a bit of a competition to see who could blow the biggest bubbles, with Dag figuring out he could make them bigger if he waved the wand in the air instead of blowing into it.  
  
He had already indulged his inner child with a bag of jellybeans - though he'd be working through that and his other sweets for awhile, he didn't like to overindulge where sweets were concerned - and now he added a bottle of bubble solution, that came with a wand inside. Why not.  
  
Karen was ready to check out at the same time he was, and Sören let her go first. Sören tried not to peek, feeling like he was prying, but he noticed she had shampoo, a pack of disposable razors, some lotion for her skin, and a set of C batteries. _Wonder what the batteries are for._ Sören tried to cover the lube bottle with his hand.  
  
Of course, Karen was off to the side watching Sören's transaction, and Sören's face burned, knowing she was seeing him buying lube. But she didn't remark on it on their way out.  
  
When Karen dropped him off at his house, Sören lingered in the car for a moment. "Thank you, again, for driving me," Sören said. "And for your fudge recommendations."  
  
"You're welcome. It was no trouble." Karen smiled. "You were nice company, actually."  
  
"You too."  
  
"Maybe we could meet for coffee sometimes? Go over lesson plans..." Karen grinned. "Share 90s nostalgia."  
  
"I'd like that too," Sören said. He handed her a bill from his wallet. "For gas."  
  
Karen took it a bit reluctantly. "Thanks, Sören. Have a good rest of the evening."  
  
"You too."  
  
It was almost five - Sören was going to have no time between this and Dooku's visit; he could already see Dooku moving around in his living room. It was worse because Sören was, inexplicably, feeling a little flustered and giddy after having spent time with Karen. On the surface it was that shiny _yay, new friend_ feeling, but he also recognized it as the same feeling he had when he started spending time with Sharon, and that was dangerous.  
  
He wasn't yet to the point of telling Karen he was concerned about spending time with her - indeed, that conversation could be more awkward and cause more problems for their working relationship than if they just spent time together as friends - but he felt a little prickle of unease as he walked into his house.  
  
Sören dropped the sweets and bubble solution off on the kitchen counter, and he was starting down the hall towards the bedroom to put the lube away when the knock came at the door. Sören was so flustered and feeling awkward all over the place that, not thinking, he answered the door with lube in his hand.  
  
"Nico, hi," Sören said. "I thought I was going to your place."  
  
Dooku looked at the bottle of lube in Sören's hand, and then at Sören, and his face went pink. "Er."  
  
Sören facepalmed. "This... isn't what it looks like," Sören said. "I was... just about to go put this away."  
  
Dooku came in, holding the two bags of bedding Sören purchased at IKEA. Sören took the bags with a mumbled " _takk_ " and then he ran down to the bedroom - regretting it, as his asthma made him wheeze on the way back.  
  
"So, what's up?" Sören asked. "I was just about to come over -"  
  
"Yes, I know." Dooku made a face. "Beowulf decided now was the perfect opportunity to make a hairball on my rug."  
  
Sören laughed. Dooku's glare just made him laugh harder. "Oh, Nico. You know I know those things happen, I wouldn't have freaked out if I came over -"  
  
"I'm sure, but it's still... a matter of pride for me, anyway. So I've got some baking soda on the mess and I thought I would just come here instead of you going to my house." Dooku shrugged.  
  
"All right. Well... sit. Coffee?"  
  
"Coffee's fine." Dooku glanced at the armchair. "I see you got that put together."  
  
"Yes, Mark helped me get it up," Sören said, and immediately realized how that sounded out loud, fighting back a guffaw, cheeks burning. He gestured. "You can sit, though if you'd rather put your feet up you can have the couch, I forgot to buy an ottoman at IKEA on Tuesday night."  
  
"I'll take the armchair."  
  
Sören made them coffee and when it was ready he brought it out, then he went back into the kitchen. He came out with his hands behind his back.  
  
Dooku raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sören thrust the container of fudge at him.  
  
Dooku glanced at it, then up at Sören, then the tight, mad-at-the-world look he'd had on his face all day finally softened, his eyes smiling, a small smile curving his lips. "That... you got that for me?"  
  
"I told you I was going to get you something to say thank you for the mirror. And I figured it ought to be today because... never mind."  
  
"That was very thoughtful of you." Dooku patted Sören's knee as he sat. "Thank you."  
  
"I hope you like it. There were so many flavors!"  
  
"You know my tastes well," Dooku said, opening the box. "Dark chocolate and cherry."  
  
"I know your tastes pretty well, já." _Can't figure out your sexual orientation for the life of me..._ "Though if you have any other preferences, next time I go to that shop I might surprise you."  
  
"I like sucre à la crème," Dooku said.  
  
"What is..."  
  
"It's brown sugar fudge. French Canadian recipe. I had some when I visited Montreal years and years ago."  
  
"You'd think I'd know about that, having lived in Canada," Sören said, "but then, Montreal is pretty different from Toronto. What were you doing in Montreal, anyway?"  
  
"Road trip across Canada one summer. Stayed a little longer in Montreal than anywhere else as a chance to practice my French." Dooku nibbled thoughtfully on a piece of fudge.  
  
"It's a beautiful language," Sören said.  
  
"Indeed." Dooku handed a piece of fudge to Sören. "Try one."  
  
"Oh, Nico, I bought those for you -"  
  
"You shared your licorice with me, _c'est assez juste, ma chère petite douleur dans le cul, non?_ " Dooku gestured with the fudge again.  
  
Sören thought of the way Dooku ate licorice from his hand like a pet on the way back home from IKEA, and now Sören opened his mouth. After a few seconds Dooku took a deep breath and deposited the fudge in Sören's mouth, and then Sören took Dooku's hand and gave a nibble the way Dooku had picked on him in the car. Dooku rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.  
  
"Oh wow, that's good," Sören said through a mouthful of fudge.  
  
" _Tu n'as pas de manières, mais je te baiserais quand même._ "  
  
Sören had no idea what Dooku just said, now or previously - he only knew that he had already been feeling flustered after being around Karen, and Dooku speaking French was not helping at all, hearing the gorgeous language in that deep, velvet baritone. Sören's cock stirred a little and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He needed to get Dooku to stop speaking French. "You say you speak Romanian too, já?" Sören had never heard Romanian spoken that he was aware of, but he imagined it couldn't sound sexier than French.  
  
"I do. It was my parents' native language and I've been to Romania twice since the fall of the Iron Curtain."  
  
"Say something in Romanian?"  
  
Dooku had a wicked look in his eyes. " _Ceva în limba română._ "  
  
Sören glared. "You can be a shit yourself too, you know."  
  
"You're still leagues beyond, Sören."  
  
"Something for real, now."  
  
Dooku sat back in the armchair and took a moment, collecting his thoughts. After a sip of coffee, he took a deep breath and then his eyes met Sören's and he said, " _Nu ai idee că sunt profund, nebun îndrăgostit de tine și nu vreau altceva decât să fac dragoste fierbinte și pasională cu corpul tău frumos timp de ore. Vreau să te sărut și să te ling peste tot. Vreau să devorez fiecare centimetru din tine. Vreau să ling acele sfârcuri delicioase până vă veți vărsa sămânța. Vreau să te aud strigând numele meu. Vreau să te fac să vii și să vii din nou și din nou până când vei fi la una cu stelele pe care le pictezi din viziunile tale frumoase. Băiatul meu dulce, prețios. Frumoasa mea visătoare, tu, care mi-ai prins inima cu spiritul tău de foc. Mă doare să te iubesc așa cum o fac, dar nu am putut înceta să te iubesc mai mult decât am putut înceta să respir_."  
  
Sören's breath hitched. _I thought Romanian would be less sexy than French and CLEARLY I WAS WRONG._ His cheeks were really on fire now and his cock was nagging for attention. "I have no idea what you just said," Sören said, "but whatever it was, it sounded gorgeous." _Especially in that voice. Goddamn, Nico._ Sören snickered, then. "You probably just read me a grocery shopping list or a political speech or something."  
  
Dooku sipped his coffee, not replying to that.  
  
When Dooku's coffee was finished, he got up. "I have to finish cleaning up the gift my cat left for me," he said with an eyeroll.  
  
"All right. Well, Nico, thank you for stopping by - and washing my new bedding - and, ah, I'll see you tomorrow morning as usual, já?"  
  
"Yes. You will." Dooku waved on his way out. "Good night, Sören."  
  
Sören had time to kill before Mark came to pick him up. He desperately wanted to jerk off - he knew from repeat past experience that an orgasm now wouldn't ruin his appetite for later - but he felt guilty about it, knowing he was aroused by Sharon, Karen, and Dooku, as well as Mark, and he didn't want to start down the path of fantasizing about Karen or Dooku.  
  
He splashed cold water on his face, packed an overnight bag, and tried to distract himself by sketching. He went back to the sketch he'd started a few days ago, the bare-bones lines of a woman which he knew instantly was Karen. He continued fleshing out the sketch, but thinking of Karen flooded him with warmth and did nothing to calm his libido.  
  
When Mark arrived at seven, Sören found himself taking Mark's cock out right there in the car and leaning across the front seat to give him head, not caring if anyone saw or not. Sucking cock was always arousing to Sören, Mark's moans and his facial expressions during sex were very arousing to Sören, and now Sören came untouched when Mark came in his mouth, turned on and pent up as he was.  
  
Mark laughed as he got on the road. "Someone was hungry."  
  
"Starving." Sören licked his lips, savoring Mark's taste. "I'll want seconds, later."  
  
"And no doubt thirds. And fourths. And fifths."  
  
Sören smiled. "Of course."


	5. All the Love

It was Friday. After having spent last night at Mark's, they were taking turns and Mark would be spending the night at Sören's house. Sören was looking forward to it, another opportunity to make his house feel like his home again.  
  
But there was also another reason why Sören felt it was better for Mark to come over this time. Sören didn't want to talk to Mark about Sharon - and an open relationship in general - yesterday when he was already stressed out from having annoyed Dooku. Today, though, he had to have that talk. He didn't want to leave Sharon hanging, and it was better to come clean with Mark about not being suited for monogamy, before they went too much further into the relationship, in case that was a dealbreaker for Mark. And having that conversation was better done at his house, so if Mark threw a fit he could just leave, instead of Sören having to be driven home from Mark's.  
  
Sören was hoping it wouldn't come to that, just the same.  
  
From what Sören remembered of Fëanor, he'd had many lovers. His wife, Nerdanel. His half-brother Fingolfin, who he'd been passionately in love with and had married in secret. Occasionally, his half-brother Finarfin joined in the fun, pretending he disapproved of Fëanor just as Fingolfin had pretended to be his bitter enemy. Glorfindel had been a sometimes lover as well. In those memories, Maglor was aware of all of this, and had no problem with it - indeed, Fëanor and Fingolfin had shared Maglor, who threw himself at them as soon as he was of age. But of course, Sören did not entirely trust the memories he had. For all he knew, he was having a case of overactive imagination - and what were artists if not imaginative - coupled with overactive libido, wanting to fuck all the hot Elves. If what he remembered of Fëanor was simply wishful, lustful thinking, then there was a chance Mark would have a problem with Sören wanting to have additional lovers. And if his memories were correct, Mark might have a problem with it anyway, maybe not wanting to share Sören after so many eons alone.  
  
Sören thought about the proverbial killing two birds with one stone and confessing to Mark that he suspected he was the reincarnation of Fëanor in the same conversation where he'd ask to have freedom to take lovers on the side so long as he was open and honest about it. But he decided it was going to be fraught enough for him to talk about this - he had, after all, put it off since the end of July when they'd gotten together. Bringing up Sharon was going to possibly add to the tension, since before they got together Mark had been jealous of what looked like a developing relationship between them. Lusty though he was, Sören genuinely didn't want to hurt Mark, and he'd leave Sharon alone if Mark had an issue, but he was hoping that Mark would no longer be jealous and see Sharon as a threat since he and Mark had gotten together and Mark knew exactly where they stood.  
  
Mark arrived at seven. While Mark unloaded the groceries he'd brought over, Sören set up food and water for Huan and put down flyers from the recycling bin in case Huan had to go and couldn't be taken out fast enough. Then he sat on the couch and fussed over Huan, giving him pettings and kisses. It was when Huan was flopped over for belly rubs, tongue lolling, that Mark walked back towards the front door - Sören noticed he hadn't taken off his jacket or unglamoured himself yet.  
  
"Where are you going?" Sören asked.  
  
"Back to the car. I gotta get something."  
  
Sören wondered if Mark had brought one of his musical instruments. That was something they hadn't done in a couple of weeks - Mark playing while Sören painted. Sören made a mental note to ask Mark to bring his guitar or keyboard or violin or even his harp, the next time Mark came over. If they survived tonight.  
  
Mark came back in, and Sören saw that he was carrying a blue ottoman, that matched the armchair and couch Sören had bought at IKEA. Sören squeaked and clapped. Huan leapt off Sören's lap and ran into the kitchen to get some water, and Sören got off the couch, rushed over to Mark, and threw his arms around Mark's neck, giving him a big kiss. As he did, Mark let his hair down, falling from the middle of his back to his thighs, and Sören squeaked again, kissing Mark some more as he played with the length.  
  
Mark set the ottoman down in front of the armchair, kicked off his boots, and pulled off his jacket.  
  
"That was so thoughtful of you," Sören said. "I was planning on taking a trip to Portland tomorrow and going back to IKEA and getting an ottoman..."  
  
"Consider it a little housewarming gift," Mark said. He sat on the couch next to Sören and pulled the ottoman over. "Open it."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow, and then he took off the lid of the ottoman and peered inside.  
  
When Sören was in Sausalito over the summer, he'd gone to a boutique that featured artisan furniture and crafts, and had bought himself a stained glass box with a sun and moon design on the lid, and a mirror on the inside lid. He'd intended to keep it as a souvenir of the summer, magical even before he and Mark had gotten together. Then Sören had a meltdown one afternoon. He very much regretted breaking the box, it had been a lovely piece of art.  
  
There was a new stained glass box waiting for him. This had a Celtic triskele design in gold and silver, between swirling flames and ocean waves on the lid.  
  
"Like your ink," Mark said, tracing a finger over the flames on Sören's arm as Sören took it out of the box.  
  
Sören's fingers traced around the trinity knot. "Wow, that looks kinda witchy or something."  
  
Mark laughed.  
  
Sören opened the stained glass box. There was no mirror inside the lid - Sören didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved - but there was an envelope. Sören opened it and he saw a set of round-trip tickets from Portland International Airport to Keflavik International Airport in Reykjavik, Iceland, via Icelandair, with one layover scheduled for SeaTac in Seattle, flying out early Christmas Day on a "red eye" and set to come back Thursday, January 4, 2018.  
  
Sören screamed and laughed and cried, hugging Mark fiercely. "Oh my god. Mark. Mark. This is too much. This cost a fortune -"  
  
Mark waved his hand dismissively. "I have money. And you're worth it. And I've always wanted to see Iceland, now I have an excuse."  
  
Sören squeezed Mark and rocked him. "I love you. I love you. Holy fucking shit, I love you."  
  
"I know, baby." Mark squeezed him back. "I love you too." Then he took Sören's chin in his hand, thumb tracing the beard, and over Sören's full lips. "And... if we're going to start traveling together, down the road... we need to practice."  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Mark pulled Sören close and kissed the top of his head, rubbed Sören's curls. "It'll be interesting to meet your family."  
  
"Ari already likes you. Ari is very chill, anyway. He likes most people, unless they're assholes. Dag is the harder sell, if Dag goes out to Reykjavik for Christmas but he probably will if he knows I'm going." Sören pulled back a little then, frowning. "You won't be able to bring Huan. Iceland has strict policies about animals coming in, he'd have to be quarantined on Hrisey, an island near my hometown of Akureyri, and that takes more time than we'd actually be there."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Mark nodded. "I hate putting him in a kennel, but um... maybe you could ask Dooku if he's willing to dogsit? I'll pay him."  
  
"I can ask." Sören nodded also. "Or, you know, you can ask him. I told him when I came back from California that you and I would be willing to take him along sometimes when we do stuff, maybe have him to dinner, and we still haven't really done that."  
  
"Yeah." Mark looked sheepish. "It's like I said, I don't make friends easily or lightly, I'm still... getting used to the idea, and that takes awhile for me. Thinking about thinking about it, if that makes sense."  
  
"I get it, but, yanno. I don't want him to feel hurt. And I absolutely do not want him to feel used if we keep asking him to do stuff. He keeps saying he doesn't but I just..." Sören shrugged. "I feel bad. He is so kind, he's the kind of person who probably would get taken advantage of by someone else -"  
  
"Honestly? I don't think he would." Mark shook his head. "He goes out of his way for you. He wouldn't necessarily be like that with someone else. I don't know him well, but he has a good head on his shoulders. You just... inspire a certain loyalty and devotion in the people who care about you. Look at your students, and how many of them have given you glowing reviews on Rate My Professor. Nobody else on campus has as high of a rating."  
  
"Well, some of that is because at least a few of them have a crush on me." Sören didn't like that, either, wanting to be judged on his merits and not his looks.  
  
"Even so. I've had more than a few students who've wanted to jump my bones and have come onto me - none of them have succeeded, even without it being an ethics violation it's just..." Mark gestured to the pointy tip of his ear. "But I'm not as popular as you are, so lust doesn't account for everything."  
  
"If only I was that popular growing up." Sören sighed, thinking of the way he was bullied in his younger years.  
  
Mark patted him. "Anyway... we can figure out how to ask Dooku about watching Huan while we're in Iceland. It's still early October, the trip's not till December."  
  
"Thank you, again, for this." Sören stared at the tickets in disbelief. He put them back in the envelope, and put the envelope back in the box. Then his fingers traced over the stained glass some more. "And this. It's not an exact replacement of what I broke, but it still feels like a souvenir from that summer anyway."  
  
"That's what I was hoping for." Mark stroked Sören's face. He kissed Sören's forehead.  
  
Mark went to the kitchen to get dinner started, and Sören put the box on the center dresser, in front of the antique mirror.  
  
Mark had put on Sören's stereo, synced to the Pandora playlist Sören had set up for him, of classic rock and hair metal. Sören sat on the couch and tried to work some more on the sketch of Karen, and he found himself distracted by thinking about Karen... her beauty, her laughter, her kindness, her warmth. Feeling that familiar flutter in his stomach. Thinking about Sharon. Thinking about how much he liked spending time with her, how easy it was to just be around her, what it had been like to kiss her, all the sexual fantasies he'd had about her, how close they'd come to making love. He loved Mark, and he was content to be with Mark most of the time. But at least once in awhile he needed more, and that need came surging back now.  
  
It was time. Sören put his sketchbook on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen, as Mark was singing along with Van Halen, really belting it out.  
  
 _I tell myself  
Hey only fools rush in and only time will tell  
If we stand the test of time  
All I know  
You've got to run to win and I'll be damned if  
I'll get hung up on the line_  
  
Sören cleared his throat. Mark stopped singing and blinked. "Hi," Mark said, and blushed.  
  
Sören grinned. "Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi." Sören folded his arms. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"  
  
Mark nodded.  
  
Sören pulled up a kitchen chair and sat down. He took a deep breath and Mark put a hand on his hip, waiting.  
  
"OK," Sören said. "I'm just gonna say it. Mark... I'm a dog."  
  
"Which means what, exactly. Are you a furry? A therianthrope? A gangsta rapper?"  
  
Sören facepalmed. "No. Like... a dog dog." That didn't come out right at all.  
  
"A dog dog... Is your name Moon Moon?"  
  
Sören glared, and Mark cackled. Sören gave him the finger, then he went on, "No, a dog like... a male ho."  
  
"You're a gardening implement?"  
  
Sören's glare intensified.  
  
"If you're going to call yourself a garden tool, I prefer the term rake to hoe," Mark said. "I'm old-fashioned that way."  
  
"You really should be friends with Nico," Sören muttered, remembering times Dooku had teased him about slang, and his grammar, and Dooku's own fondness for some more archaic colloquialisms, like the time they'd been driving in Portland and a prostitute jaywalked and Dooku had to quickly swerve out of the way, saying _"I shan't run over the trollop"_.  
  
Then Sören went on. "OKAY WELL ANYWAY... yeah, that. I'm a slut. Like, you know I'm a slut for you, but... I'm a slut in general. I am really not suited for monogamy. It's like..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "Me only eating chocolate ice cream for the rest of my life. I love chocolate ice cream and I might go for that flavor most of the time. But once in awhile I want, like, strawberry. Or pistachio. Or mint chocolate chip. You get the picture. I was monogamous when I was with Seth, I've had a few short-lived relationships prior to him where I tried to be 'good' and be with just them, and I wasn't happy. If this is going to work between us, I'd really like permission to, well, be a dog and hump around on the side. I love you. That hasn't changed. I want to be with you. I will always come home to you. You will always be my priority. And I will always be honest with you about who I take to my bed. I won't go behind your back and lie about it. But I can't be 'faithful' without feeling deprived, which ends up having a negative impact on my personality with time. I'm sorry I'm like that, but -"  
  
"Sören." Mark put up a hand.  
  
Sören stopped.  
  
Mark stirred the pot for a few minutes, not saying anything, just letting it sink in. The longer Mark took to respond, the more Sören's heart plummeted as the pit of his stomach rose, until his heart was hammering in his ears. Finally Mark came over and pulled up a chair. Mark took Sören's hands in his and kissed them.  
  
"OK," Mark said then, simply.  
  
"Just... OK?"  
  
Mark nodded. "Just OK, and that you don't have to be sorry. Some people are wired monogamous, and some people are not."  
  
Sören went fishing. "Didn't Tolkien say your people were monogamous, or something?"  
  
"Per the laws of the Valar, we were. My father said that when we lived in Endor, things were different, and I believe I mentioned once when I was still 'passing as human' to you that my parents had an open relationship, which was... controversial, at best."  
  
That confirmed at least some of what Sören remembered. _That doesn't mean all of the memories are true._ Sören still felt like there was a risk in asking about the specifics, or telling Mark what he suspected of himself. His mouth was dry, as he made himself ride out the urge to blurt out he knew Fëanor and Fingolfin were lovers.  
  
"My father was very bitter about the laws of the Valar," Mark said.  
  
 _Yeah, no shit. CAN'T IMAGINE WHY._  
  
"You had a canonical wife," Sören said, wanting to change the subject before "background Fëanor" started ranting about the Valar and Sören let something slip he wasn't ready for.  
  
"Yeah. We don't talk about the canonical wife." Mark frowned. "It wasn't an arrangement I was happy about."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"S'OK." Mark patted Sören's hands. "Anyway... I've seen that non-monogamy can work where the partners are still committed to each other. So I'm confident that sharing you isn't the same as losing you."  
  
"It's not. If anything, it'll make me better able to appreciate you, the way I appreciate a nice home-cooked meal more if I've been eating out at restaurants." Sören's mind immediately went in the gutter with the phrase "eating out", thinking of how he'd gotten a glimpse of Sharon being blonde all over. He couldn't wait to taste her.  
  
"I do have to ask, though." Mark narrowed his eyes. "This didn't just come up at random. Something prompted it."  
  
Sören nodded. "More like someone, já." The dryness in his mouth got worse.  
  
Mark got up and without being asked, brought back some iced tea from the fridge. _"Takk_ ," Sören said, gulping it down.  
  
"So, who's the lucky individual?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "Professor Dooku?"  
  
Sören almost spat his iced tea. "WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK THAT WE'RE A THING?"  
  
Mark sipped his iced tea, saying nothing, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.  
  
"WE ARE NOT A THING," Sören said.  
  
"OK, Sören." Mark sipped more iced tea, making the "OK hand" with his free hand.  
  
Sören scowled into his glass, feeling flustered. "Actually, the person is. Ah." He set the glass down and ran a nervous hand through his curls, wondering if Mark's nonchalant attitude towards Sören wanting free love was going to hold up when he dropped this bomb. "You remember Sharon? From the summer? She called. She's living in Portland now."  
  
"I see."  
  
Sören folded his hands. "If you don't want me to see her, I'll understand -"  
  
"No, Sören, it's OK." Mark nodded. "My reaction to you and her over the summer was before things happened between us. I don't mind if you want to hook up with her now and again."  
  
"You're really sure? You're not just saying that for the sake of getting along."  
  
"I'm really sure," Mark said. "If this is going to work, that honesty has to go both ways - I have to let you know if a choice of partner makes me uncomfortable, and why."  
  
Sören nodded. "Please do." Then Sören reached across the table and put his hands over Mark's. "And I feel like it's better if the openness itself goes both ways. If I can have lovers on the side, I don't have a problem with you taking them either, so long as you let me know what's going on." Sören leered. "And, you know, maybe letting me watch."  
  
Mark chuckled, and then he shook his head. "Thanks, but that's... unlikely, at this point. I'd told myself a long time ago I was done taking mortal partners. I broke my own rule, for you, and it was hard enough to let myself get involved, as drawn as I was to you, as much as I was aching for you. I don't think I can go through the same amount of risk for someone else."  
  
"Well, you never know." Sören hated that Mark was cutting himself off to love - Sören thought that being loved by multiple people was exactly the sort of medicine Maglor needed, after having been so lonely and so starving for touch and affection for so long - but he also understood that it had cost Mark a lot to allow himself this, for the decades they had. He couldn't imagine that outliving many past loves had been easy, and he couldn't say he wouldn't shut off the same way if he had to walk in Maglor's shoes. Just the same... it hurt. _You were meant to burn just as I was, Kanafinwë._ It was time for "background Fëanor" to be quiet again, Sören trying to push it aside, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm just letting you know, I won't mind. And I think something like a threesome would be fun, sometime..."  
  
"Don't get your hopes up." Mark got up and went to the stove.  
  
Sören got the sense he hit a nerve, and he considered asking, but he didn't want to make things worse. He was also having the flood of relief that this conversation went all right, that Mark wasn't leaving in disgust, and the rush of relief made him teary, as well as a little sick to his stomach. He let everything sink in, with the two of them keeping their silence until dinner.  
  
The shrimp scampi was wonderful, as Mark's cooking always was. When they were finished, drinking wine, Mark said, "So you mentioned Sharon called? How long ago was this?"  
  
"Not long. Wednesday night. I've been waiting to call her back because I wanted to make sure I touched base with you about whether or not it would be all right to, you know. I didn't want to give her false hope or expectations."  
  
"Completely understandable."  
  
"Actually, I should call her back, before it gets too much later. She said weekends work best for her schedule and she'd like to see me soon. So if you're OK with me going to see her tomorrow..."  
  
Mark nodded. "That'll give me the chance to do some chores around the house, take a drive, that sort of thing." Mark started playing footsie with Sören under the table. "You want to get together Sunday evening?"  
  
"Please." Sören got out his cell phone, and before he could dial Sharon's number, he paused and said, "You're really, really sure this is OK? You're not jealous at all?"  
  
"I think a little degree of jealousy comes with the territory of being Fëanorion. But it's not enough for me to want to get in your way and tell you not to see her, it's not enough where it should become an issue. It's just enough to add a little spice." Mark's foot slid up Sören's calf. "We can make a game of it. When you come back on Sunday night... I want to punish you for being such a slutty boy. Want to remind you who owns you."  
  
Sören's cock stirred at that. "Oh, fuck." A shiver went down his spine. He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I really like that idea."  
  
Mark smiled, heat in his eyes. "Competition can be fun. I am my father's son in that regard."  
  
Sören thought of the rivalry with Fingolfin, and Finarfin, and how explosive the sex had been with his brother-lovers, Fingolfin especially. He once again wondered if that was really a thing. He decided he needed to call Sharon before he lost his nerve.  
  
"I'll handle dishes," Mark said, noticing Sören looking antsy at his phone. "Call your girl, then... come see me in the bedroom for a preview of what's in store Sunday."  
  
Sören went out to the living room and hit Sharon's number on speed dial. Sharon answered after three rings. "Hello?"  
  
"Sharon! It's Sören."  
  
"Oh my god, Sören, hi!"  
  
"Hi, I hope this isn't a bad time. I would have called sooner but I needed to take care of stuff -"  
  
"It's OK! How are you?"  
  
"Good. How are you liking Portland?"  
  
"Oh my fucking god, Sören, you weren't kidding when you said I'd love it here."  
  
"And you got a place?"  
  
"Mhm. I have a two-bedroom in northeast Portland. My roommate is a girl my age, her name is Frankie, she's from Belfast."  
  
"THAT BETTER NOT BE ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE ROBOCALL SPAM GOBSHITES CALLIN' AT THIS FECKIN' HOUR," an Irish-accented voice bellowed in the background.  
  
"NO FRANKIE, THIS IS THE FRIEND I TOLD YOU ABOUT," Sharon yelled back. "Anyway... can we get together soon?"  
  
"How's tomorrow sound?"  
  
"Perfect! I was hoping we could see each other then."  
  
"Just one thing... I still don't drive after the accident I was in last winter, so I need a ride. I'm down in Corvallis which is an hour twenty minutes down I-5 South, or an hour thirty if there's some traffic. I'll give you gas money -"  
  
"Sure, I don't mind picking you up! What time?"  
  
"Well, that depends. You want to do stuff in Portland or just hang out at your place? Or both?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"OK. So... 1 PM pickup, we'll be back in Portland around 2:30, can do some stuff around the city, grab a bite to eat... um... go back to your place..."  
  
"When will you want to go back to Corvallis?"  
  
Sören took a deep breath. "That depends on you."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"If... you're... still interested. I had a talk with Mark and he's OK with us, ah."  
  
"Oh good. Well, if you want to Netflix and chill, you're in luck - Frankie works third shift most nights so she'll be away and won't have to listen to us."  
  
"Good, because I'm going to make you scream." It was out before Sören could stop himself, and his face burned, feeling like a pervert.  
  
Sharon laughed. "Promises, promises."  
  
"Oh, that's a vow, not a promise."  
  
"Mmmmmm. Definitely looking forward to it. Might make you scream, too."  
  
"Yes please."  
  
"OK, so 1 PM tomorrow - I might be slightly late depending on traffic, I'll call if I'm running really behind. And you can spend the night and I'll take you back Sunday afternoon?"  
  
"That is the plan." Sören gave her his street address and directions to his house from one of the highway exits.  
  
"Kay. I miss you, Sören. I'm so happy we'll get to see each other sometimes."  
  
"I miss you too. And me too." Sören blew a little kiss into the phone. "Bye, Sharon."  
  
"Good night!"  
  
Sören leaned against the wall when the call was done and took a few deep breaths. He hadn't been expecting rejection but the obvious desire from Sharon felt good all the same. He felt like strutting as he made his way down to the bedroom.  
  
Mark was laid out like a feast on the bed, naked, hard, stroking himself. He had the leash ready, and gestured for Sören to get on the bed when he came in. Sören undressed, and walked over, proudly erect. Once he climbed on the bed, Mark clipped the black leather O-ring collar around Sören's neck, and the matching leash through the collar. Then Mark tugged on the leash, pulling Sören towards him, for a kiss.  
  
Mark pushed Sören down and guided his cock to Sören's lips. "Show me what a greedy boy you are."  
  
Sören took all that he could in his mouth right away, making Mark gasp and shudder. Mark wound the leash around his hand and grabbed Sören's head as Sören sucked hard and fast, moaning with his mouth full.  
  
"That's it. Get that nice and wet, you'll need the extra lubrication for when I fuck you hard," Mark rasped.  
  
Sören moaned louder, his cock jolting at that, already leaking precum. His hole twitched around the plug inside him.  
  
After a few minutes of fast, furious, hungry sucking, Mark took his cock out of Sören's mouth and reached for the vibrator Sören kept in the bedtable drawer. Mark licked and sucked the vibe - Sören groaned, turned on by the sight of Mark's lips and tongue working their magic - and then he presented the vibe to Sören for him to do the same. Sören looked up at Mark as he slurped away at the vibe. Then Mark took the vibe out of Sören's mouth, took the plug out of Sören's ass, and replaced the plug with the vibrator, working it in and out on its lowest setting as his cock went back in Sören's mouth.  
  
Sören moaned again, rubbing his hard cock against the mattress - loving the feel of the silk sheets on his cock - and wiggled his ass, enjoying the way that felt with the vibe gliding in and out of him, buzzing away on his prostate. Mark gently fucked Sören's mouth, breathing hard, grunting. Sören reached to cup Mark's tightening balls, rubbing them slowly.  
  
Before Mark could come in Sören's mouth, he pulled his cock out again, and stopped working the vibe. He tugged on the leash, and lay back, lubing his cock with a generous amount that made Sören glad he'd bought more lube yesterday. "Time to give you a ride," Mark said.  
  
Sören climbed atop him and straddled his hips. Mark grabbed Sören's hips as he pushed inside. Sören put his hands on Mark's shoulders, and then Sören heard himself cry out as Mark began to thrust, rocking up into Sören with frenzied abandon out the gate.  
  
"Oh shit, oh god, yes..." Sören gave a wordless howl.  
  
Mark growled, his grip tightening on Sören, leash tugging, as he slammed away.


	6. Between A Man And A Woman

At 12:45 on Saturday afternoon, Sören was pacing around, taking deep breaths, his stomach doing flip-flops. He'd packed an overnight bag - including the package of condoms he'd bought over the summer but never got around to using. For what felt like the hundredth time he did a once-over in the bathroom mirror, and again in the antique mirror in his bedroom. Sharon had seen him dressed down so he was in jeans and the KMFDM T-shirt he was wearing when they first met - the one she'd commented on - but he still felt like he ought to have worn something more impressive.  
  
Ten minutes later he heard a vehicle pull up, a honk of the horn. She was early. Sören grabbed his overnight bag and came out to the RV parked out front, with California plates. "Godlike" by KMFDM was audible through a rolled-down window. By force of habit, Sören glanced over at Dooku's house - Dooku's Jaguar wasn't around, which meant Dooku was probably out doing one of his weekend activities like fencing, or at the gym. The thought of Dooku fencing, or getting all sweaty as he worked out got Sören flustered, and he was already worked up with anticipation over seeing Sharon again.  
  
Sören climbed in the front seat and leaned in to give Sharon a fierce, tight hug. "Hey, gorgeous."  
  
Sharon blushed. She showed her dimples when she smiled and the adorable gap in her front teeth. Her tan had faded a bit since leaving California for Oregon, and the light dusting of freckles across her nose and upper cheeks was more visible. Her bright blue eyes were shining, which made Sören smile. Her blonde dreadlocks were pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing a fuzzy magenta sweater and blue jeans - the first time Sören had seen her in something other than summer clothes. Sören's eyes raked the length of her slim body, remembering what she'd looked like in a bikini, and topless. He had half a mind to drag her into the back of the RV when things on his street were quiet, without Dooku around to complain about noise. But he was all tongue-tied again - he needed to work his way up to being ready, for both their sakes.  
  
"Hey gorgeous yourself." Sharon tousled his curls. Then she pulled out of the parking space and got on the road. "How've you been?"  
  
"Pretty good." Sören nodded. "School is good, Mark is good... been pretty happy these days."  
  
Sharon nodded. "I'm glad."  
  
"And you? You said you like Portland, já?"  
  
"It's exactly the sort of change of pace I needed."  
  
"So what are you doing there now? You making rent OK and stuff?"  
  
"If I was living on my own, I wouldn't be able to afford rent out there," Sharon said. "Like maybe possibly if I moved to, like, Tigard or something, but then I'd have a longer commute to work and less to do. I found kind of a desperation ad on Craigslist - Frankie's ex-roommate was fucked up on drugs and stole a bunch of shit from her, so she needed someone to move in right away, and rent is reasonable split two ways. Frankie works third shift at a 7-11, and is attending business school online to try to get a better job someday, and I'm working full-time at the Denny's near the airport."  
  
"Near the airport and Hooters. Not that I've been to Hooters."  
  
"Sure, Sören." Sharon made the "OK hand" gesture.  
  
"No, seriously. I just know it's one of those weird American things but I mean, like, it seems grossly unfair to have a Hooters and not also have a restaurant called Buns or... Roosters... with all-male staff, wearing thongs." Sören grinned. "I'd go there. Hell, I'd probably become the owner of one."  
  
Sharon threw her head back and laughed. "This is why I like you, Sören."  
  
"And here I thought it was because..." Sören unzipped his overnight bag and took out the notebook Sharon had given him before she'd left the Bay Area, a volume of stories she'd written. "I care about the things important to you." He handed her the notebook. "I loved these. I hope you have more for me to read."  
  
"I do. I have a couple milk crates full of notebooks. Not all my stories and poetry are good -"  
  
"Oh, jæja, you write poetry too?"  
  
Sharon nodded. "Not as often as I used to, but I manage a poem once in awhile. I wrote a lot more poetry as a teenager." Sharon cringed. "If I let you see my old teenage writings, you'll laugh and you'll cry."  
  
"We all have to start somewhere. And I mean, it can't be worse than, like, Fifty Shades of Grey or Atlas Shrugged, and those got published."  
  
Sharon giggled. "That's a pretty low bar, Sören." Then she giggled more. "That's also the weirdest juxtaposition ever."  
  
"Now my brain wants a crossover fic. _Fifty Shades of... Shrug._ 'Who is John Galt?' 'Some dude into kinky fuckery.' You've heard of sadomasochism... now get ready for sadocapitalism. Where the economy fucks you literally."  
  
Sharon howled. She pulled over and gave Sören a kiss. First their lips just brushed, a sweet spark between them, then their lips parted, tongues met and swirled, slow and sensual. Sharon tasted sweet, like she'd been eating pineapple or drinking pineapple juice. "Mmmm," Sören moaned into the kiss, and Sharon gave an "mmmmm" back. Their tongues danced some more, Sharon playing with Sören's curls, Sören's hands sliding from her shoulders down her arms to her waist to her hips and back up; Sören felt her quiver underneath his touch.  
  
"I'm so glad Mark said it was OK for us to..." Sharon looked Sören in the eye and bit her lower lip.  
  
Sören had to. "Hi So Glad Mark Said It Was OK -"  
  
Sharon gave him a swat. Then she got back on the road, and it was time to hit the highway. "Virus" by KMFDM played as the RV turned onto I-5 South.  
  
"I'm glad you like the stories you've read so far," Sharon said.  
  
"I really would like to read more. And your poetry too."  
  
Sharon nodded. "I'll send you home with something."  
  
"You said you were working full-time at Denny's... I hope you're still getting some time to write." Sören gave her a concerned look.  
  
"More or less. I get less writing done than I did in the Bay Area - not just working the hours I do, but having a job that deals with people is draining so I need more time to just veg and fuck off and not have to use my brain for things. But when I do write, I feel more inspired now. Portland is such a weird, quirky city, and it's given me a hotbed of ideas for magical realist fiction - it's the kind of place where, if non-humans were going to hide out among mortals, they totally would."  
  
 _Oh Sharon, my dear, if only you knew._ "I'd love to read that."  
  
Sharon nodded again. "So yeah, on the one hand, not writing as much, on the other hand I have a lot of ideas percolating so when I do write, I'm more satisfied with it."  
  
"You think Marilwen is gonna make an appearance in anything?" Marilwen was one of Sharon's original characters, who featured prominently in her tales - a female paladin, feisty and bawdy, with flaming red hair. Sören had enough of a little crush on the fictional character to paint a picture of her, and gave the painting to Sharon before she left the Bay Area.  
  
"I think I'm pretty much obligated to keep writing Marilwen." Sharon had a cryptic smile as she drove. "You should meet Frankie."  
  
"You said she won't be around tonight?"  
  
"No. We could go to my place sooner, but I'd really like to do some stuff in Portland before we go home."  
  
That was fine with Sören. He wasn't opposed to meeting Frankie but he was shy of strangers and needed a bit more advance planning to work himself up to that. "You got any place in mind?"  
  
"I'm open to suggestions."  
  
Sören thought for a moment, stroking his beard. "It's a lovely fall day, and the Japanese Garden is really nice this time of year. You want to chill in the garden for a bit? You write, maybe, I draw?"  
  
"Oooh, I like that idea a lot."  
  
Creative work also tended to make Sören randy, and it worked in reverse - Sören having a lot of good sex also made him feel more creative. He wasn't too worried about performance anxiety with Sharon, but it had been long enough since he was last with a woman, and he liked Sharon a lot, so he wanted to make sure he was very ready. Spending time creating together in the garden would go a good distance towards that.  
  
Just the garden itself put Sören in an amorous mood, the maples ablaze in red and orange, a lovely contrast against the green of willows and ferns and shrubbery. Sören and Sharon walked through the garden hand in hand, admiring the bridges, the falls, the koi pond, the pagodas and gazebos, the stone lanterns. It was a place of perfect peace, like a place outside of time or a world away from the world, and being there with Sharon made it even more beautiful to him as she took in the delights of the scenery, her face lit up, radiating joy.  
  
Sören and Sharon found a spot to sit at the famed "Tree of Life", a large gnarled maple tree. The hours melted away as Sören sketched and Sharon scrawled. Every now and again one or the other would look up to take in the scenery before refocusing on the work in front of them; every now and again their eyes would meet and they would reach out to touch, or lean on each other. They took a little break to just cuddle, holding each other. Rubbing noses became gentle kisses became deeper kisses, and Sören's hand found its way to Sharon's stomach, her thigh, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. For a moment Sören entertained the idea of tasting Sharon right here, but they had seen a number of other visitors in the garden, so the inevitability of being caught and probably arrested for public indecency kept him in check.  
  
After they'd been back to work for awhile, Sören showed Sharon the sketch he was working on, of Karen. Now he was incorporating bits of the garden scenery, making a little garden by the sea, and had given her a crown of seashells - when he'd eventually color this in, he saw her wearing blue and white in his mind's eye.  
  
"I love that," Sharon said. "I always love your art." She kissed Sören's cheek.  
  
"Takk." Then Sören stroked Sharon's face. "I'd like to sketch or paint you, one of these days."  
  
Sharon beamed. "You're so sweet."  
  
Sören felt a little bolder. "I don't know how you feel about erotic art, but..."  
  
"Your art would actually be art, not... objectification. I'm... I'm flattered you'd want to paint me that way."  
  
"It's not flattery." Sören traced her lips with his thumb. "You turn me on."  
  
Sharon sucked his thumb for a minute - Sören's cock stirred - and then Sharon said, "You make me feel sexy."  
  
"You are."  
  
"I have a hard time, you know... with all of that. I've heard more than once that I'm not the prettiest. Too tall, too boyish, too... whatever." Sharon took her hair out of its ponytail, blonde dreadlocks spilling over her shoulders and down her back. "So I decided if I couldn't be pretty, I would be interesting."  
  
"You're pretty and interesting." Sören came closer and started playing with her locks, breathing in the scent of patchouli. "You don't look like everyone else, but you don't need to. I don't want some perfect plastic doll, I want something real. You're beautiful to me." He placed his fingers on her heart, fighting the urge to touch her breasts. Not here. Not yet. "You have a beautiful soul, and it shines through."  
  
Sharon threw her arms around him and kissed him. Sören's cock twinged again, and stood at attention as he found himself being rolled onto his back in the grass, Sharon laying on top of him, against him, kissing him again and again, heady kisses that left them both breathless.  
  
Finally Sharon's stomach growled, making Sören laugh. Sharon pulled Sören up with her and gave him one last kiss. "We should get something to eat," she said.  
  
"Jæja, I'd like something to eat." Sören couldn't resist.  
  
Sharon blushed, rolling her eyes and laughing. She tweaked his nose. "Incorrigible."  
  
" _Takk_."  
  
"That's dessert." She rose to her feet and pulled Sören up with her. "Let's go before I get tempted to do stuff here that we shouldn't."  
  
They went back to the RV and discussed food ideas, mutually deciding on Mexican. The restaurant they chose was a bit crowded at dinnertime on a Saturday night but despite his dislike of crowds Sören was relaxed in Sharon's presence, feeling an easy familiarity around her, like he'd known her for a long time even though they'd just met over the summer. And he was distracted from the people around them, immersed in Sharon's description of the latest story she was working on, that she'd added to in the garden. Marilwen had been sent to Portland to find another one of her people, the rightful king of a kingdom that had been lost, who was cleverly disguised as a human. Their enemies were trying to prevent them meeting, and Marilwen had her work cut out for her even without that, struggling to adapt to the ways of the world and expected behavior. Marilwen now had a sidekick, named Nelly. "The Gabrielle to her Xena," Sharon quipped.  
  
Sören grinned. "I can't wait to read it. You have a real knack for making characters come to life. They feel so real, like I know them."  
  
"Yeah, they feel a little too real for comfort sometimes," Sharon said, shoveling a forkful of rice and beans in her mouth.  
  
Sören insisted on paying simply because he made more money than she did. Their check came with the dessert that was brought, a flan topped with strawberries that they were sharing. Sharon put a strawberry in Sören's mouth as she played footsie with him under the table, and Sören felt himself getting aroused again.  
  
Despite both of them being flirty and randy, they still didn't go straight to Sharon's apartment. They took a ride on the streetcar to go over the river, enjoying the view of the waterfront and the bridge lit up in the sunset becoming twilight. From the streetcar stop they walked to Powell's City of Books, the largest bookstore in the United States, multiple stories of wall-to-wall books in every subject imaginable. They mostly browsed, discussing authors they liked, and just before they hit the erotica section, Sharon grabbed Sören's ass and said, "Talk nerdy to me." Sören's response was to push her into the erotica section to steal a deep, hungry kiss as his finger trailed down her spine, making her moan and shiver.  
  
"Klingons," Sören whispered in her ear before he started kissing her neck. "Photosynthesis. Arctic birds. The Renaissance. Anglo-Saxon poetry."  
  
Sharon gigglesnorted. "Ooh, baby." Then she moaned at Sören's kisses on her neck.  
  
Sören kissed the tip of her nose. "If we said all this and we were on the phone, and you followed it by 'what are you wearing', I'd have to say something like 'molecules. Hydrogen and oxygen.'"  
  
"Sören, you are the worst." Sharon kissed him back. "You are such a dork it's unreal."  
  
Sören took a bow, and kissed her again. "I try."  
  
"I like a man with a big..." Sharon winked. "Brain."  
  
They kissed some more, continuing to kiss on their way out of the erotic fiction section. They were kissing and getting handsy enough to get a few dirty looks, so they took that as their cue to exit Powell's. On the streetcar ride back over the river, they made out, not caring anymore if people disapproved of their public affection.  
  
Sören was giddy and rock hard when they got in the RV again. "Now we can go back to my place," Sharon said.  
  
Sharon lived on a fourth floor walkup, and Sören had to use his inhaler by the time they reached the top of the stairs; noticing he was wheezing, Sharon took his overnight bag and carried it after the second flight. Once they were in the door, Sharon continued carrying the bag and now she was also dragging Sören in the direction of her bedroom.  
  
"You're strong," Sören said.  
  
"This is nothing."  
  
Frankie wasn't around. Sharon brought Sören a Sprite, and then she started undressing, with Sören not able to take his eyes off her, thirsty for something other than a drink. When Sören's mouth was less dry and his lungs had calmed down, he also got naked and grabbed the box of condoms from his overnight bed, and Sharon climbed on the queen-sized bed, turning down the purple duvet and lavender sheets. For a few moments they just lay there side by side, holding each other, looking into each other's eyes, petting.  
  
"I can't believe this is finally happening," Sharon whispered.  
  
Sören kissed her. Sharon kissed him back, hard. Sören groaned, his cock jolting at her tongue playing with his, the feel of her body against his.  
  
Sharon grabbed Sören's hand and guided it between her legs, immediately. Sören's breath hitched at how drenched she was. "How can you be this wet already?"  
  
"You." Sharon's blue eyes were like fire.  
  
They kissed, Sören's fingers playing between Sharon's legs, cock throbbing at the way she moaned. When the kiss pulled apart, Sören brought his slick fingers to his mouth to taste her juices, Sharon's blue eyes blazing as she watched him lick and suck his fingers. Now it was Sören's turn to moan at the sweet tanginess, like the pineapple she'd tasted of earlier, with just a hint of musk.  
  
He wanted more, but he wanted to feast on the entirety of her. He gently rolled her onto her back, grinding his hard erection against her thigh as he kissed her mouth some more, tongues teasing. Then he kissed her neck, licked and nibbled, cock continuing to pulse and twinge at her moans and whimpers. His mouth moved to the sweet spot where her neck and shoulder met and then it was on her shoulder.  
  
He kissed her other shoulder, fingers walking over her arms. He liked the little blonde hairs on her arms, and now he found himself lifting her arms. "It is so fucking sexy that you don't shave anywhere," Sören husked, lowering his face to the blonde fuzz in her armpit, breathing in the sexy smell of sweat and pheromones, before rubbing his nose in the hair, then taking a lick, and another. Sharon giggled at his tongue tickling her, and then she moaned as the licking became kisses and nibbles.  
  
As he kissed her armpits, his fingers strayed to her nipples, brushing and rubbing them, and he moaned at the sight of them pebbling. At last his tongue replaced his fingers there, lapping, swirling around the aerole, a nipple between his lips, tugging, suckling hard before taking slow, feather-light licks, then rubbing his tongue hard and fast. Again and again he licked and sucked and slurped, nibbled and licked some more, one then the other, back and forth, over and over, making Sharon whimper and arch to him, panting.  
  
"Oh god Sören..."  
  
"Beautiful." He lovingly nuzzled a nipple before licking it some more. "Your ex was an asshole to not appreciate these." He suckled harder.  
  
"Mmmmmmf. You're a better lover than him, anyway." Sharon shuddered.  
  
"He doesn't deserve your body. He doesn't deserve you." Their eyes met, and a frisson went down Sören's spine at the way Sharon was looking at him, like she wanted to eat him alive.  
  
He wanted to eat her alive. But he was going to take his sweet time getting there, wanting to lavish love on her, spoil her. He made love to her nipples some more, until Sharon was rubbing against him, whining.  
  
He kissed between her breasts, and kissed and licked her stomach. He nibbled on her pierced nevel, licked around it. He kissed and licked one hip, and then licked and sucked and nibbled on her thigh, working on the other before his nose was in her full, curly blonde bush. The scent of her was intoxicating. Sharon spread her legs wide and Sören took his first lick around her clit, not directly on, just to tease. He licked around it and around it, then over the hood, smiling as Sharon writhed, panted, pinching her nipples.  
  
Sören got on his knees on a pillow and leaned over the edge of the bed, pulling Sharon's legs over his shoulders. He parted her folds and began to kiss, slow and sensual. The taste of her made his cock ache, and he rubbed against the mattress as he continued kissing, kissing. He pulled his face up to admire the pretty pink flower framed with golden curls, and licked around her clit some more before suckling one of her lips, then the other. Then his tongue lashed, and Sharon bucked, rolling her hips to fuck his face as he lapped away, pulling on Sören's curls, panting and whimpering.  
  
Her whimpering became broken cries as he kissed her clit some more, went back to tongue-lashing, then more kissing, and at last just sucking on her clit, treating it like it was a tiny cock, making filthy, obscene slurping noises as he sucked on it. Sharon fucked his mouth harder, and Sören let the fingers of his right hand slip into her, finding the G-spot and rubbing as he continued sucking her clit. Kissing and sucking.  
  
Sharon pulled his curls harder and he watched her eyes widen, watched her body tense, felt her tensing, felt her quivering. Sharon panted hard and fast, and a high-pitched, inhuman noise began to rise out of her. Sören kept sucking her clit, fingers rubbing inside her harder and faster, and the high-pitched noise became a roar and at last a shout of "Sören! Sören, oh god, I'm coming -"  
  
He felt her jolt, and laughed with triumph as he watched the contractions, her flower closing and opening, pulsing, gushing its nectar. He lapped up the flowing juices and sucked them from his fingers. "That's one," he said.  
  
He ate her to another orgasm, and another, and another. He ate her and ate her, lapping her clit, kissing it, sucking it, fingers fucking inside her, the sound of her wetness and his slurping competing with her cries and moans. After a few orgasms with her on her back, he needed to get off his knees and climbed on the bed, leaning in to kiss her - grinning into the kiss as she moaned at tasting herself on him - and then he lay on his back and patted his shoulders. "Sit on my face, _elskan_."  
  
She straddled his shoulders. She was so wet that she was dripping, and before she could lower herself onto his mouth he opened his mouth and put out his tongue, and she just dripped onto his tongue for a minute. He loved that, cock twinging, wanting a release, but he was going to take care of her some more first.  
  
With her sitting on his face he was really able to kiss and suck on her hard, shaking his head back and forth as he devoured her. His fingers fucked away inside her, and Sharon grabbed the headboard and rode his face, whimpering, gasping. She climaxed again and again, and Sören loved her juices gushing over his face, sipping, greedy for her.  
  
Sören lost count of how many orgasms Sharon had by the time she climbed off his shoulders, needing a few minutes to recharge. They kissed, and Sharon licked her juices off his face, his chin, his neck. She reached to play with Sören's cock, which was dripping as well. Her finger hooked through the captive bead ring in the head of his cock.  
  
"So pretty," she said.  
  
"It's not just for looks. Everyone I've fucked with it has raved about it."  
  
"I bet." Sharon shivered. She watched as Sören fished a condom out of the box. "It's almost too bad you have to wear that."  
  
Sören nodded. "You'll still feel it through the condom."  
  
"I'll be going to Planned Parenthood soon to. You know. Get tested, get on birth control, all of that."  
  
"Good. I don't have anything, and we can stop using condoms once you're all set."  
  
"I appreciate that you're being careful."  
  
Sören ripped open the condom packet with his teeth, making Sharon laugh, and then she helped him roll the condom onto his cock. "How do you want it?" she whispered.  
  
"How you want it. I'll get off regardless, so it's about pleasing you."  
  
"God." Sharon kissed him hard. "I want to ride you."  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
With Sören on his back, Sharon straddled him and he guided his cock to her, both of them moaning as he began to push inside. He loved the sight of her lips kissing his cock, the sight of his cock buried inside her to the hilt. And most of all, he loved the sight of her riding him, rocking her hips, her slim body moving like a dancer's, her long blonde dreadlocks swaying with the motions. She looked delicate and graceful yet also wild and fierce at the same time, a strength and power in her as she bounced away on his cock. The feeling of her gripping him again and again and the wet suctioning sound, the slap of their flesh, her cries... Sören was already close, and fought back his release.  
  
He slid his hands over her, played with her locks, teased her nipples, rubbed her clit. With one hand going back and forth between her nipples and the other working her clit, Sharon's cries got louder and soon she was riding him so hard the bed creaked and slammed against the wall. And then her hand gripped Sören's wrist, speeding up his pace on her clit. "Sören," she ground out, "don't stop don't stop don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop _don't you FUCKING stop_ -"  
  
Sören growled. "Gonna make you come, _elskan_."  
  
Sharon's mouth opened but no sound came out, and then she gave a mighty shudder and started to howl. He felt her contract beneath his fingers, and then her insides were squeezing and squeezing and squeezing and her howl became a shriek. Sören cried out as his climax hit, his cock throbbing and throbbing in time with her pulses around him. Sharon gave a last cry before she collapsed into his arms, shaking.  
  
They panted, gasped for breath, and then they kissed deeply. "Wow," Sharon said, her face lit up the same way it had been in the garden, joy that took Sören's breath away. Sharon giggled for no reason, just euphoria. "Holy shit. Holy fucking _SHIT_ , nobody's ever made me come like that."  
  
Sören gave her a sweet little kiss. He laughed too. "The pleasure was mine." His own orgasm - which he was still coming down from - was also deliciously intense.  
  
They kissed some more, and Sharon rested in his arms, petting Sören's curls. "So good," she whispered. "We'll definitely have to do that again."  
  
"We will. Again and again and again." Sören gave her another little kiss.  
  
"I could get used to this." She rubbed noses with him.  
  
"Me too."


	7. Moments Of Pleasure

When Sören got back from Portland early the next afternoon, Dooku's Jaguar was gone again. As soon as Sören heard Dooku's car pull in, he came out with his laundry, and Dooku led him inside. Sören immediately regretted not waiting, since Dooku was freshly returned from the gym and sweat-drenched, and the sight and smell got his libido going even after he'd been well-sated from another romp with Sharon before heading back to Corvallis. It was even worse when Sören was invited to make himself at home while Dooku showered down the hall, and Sören had the briefest fantasy of stealing down the hall and climbing in the shower with his best friend, lathering those strong muscles, that silver pelt on his chest...  
  
 _He probably wouldn't appreciate that. And I need to stop thinking about him like this, that ship sailed away months ago._  
  
Dooku came out in black silk pajamas and a robe, since he wasn't going back out later. It wasn't the first time Sören had seen him in that, but Sören couldn't remember reacting so strongly before, looking at the silver chest hair peeking out. "Will you be staying for dinner?" Dooku asked, as he assembled ingredients to throw in the slow cooker.  
  
Sören shook his head. "Mark is picking me up tonight."  
  
"Ah."  
  
By the time Mark arrived to pick him up, Sören had an appetite for whatever Mark had planned. Sören would have welcomed it anyway, but his body was absolutely screaming with sexual frustration after having been around Dooku in his pajamas for hours. Sören felt a bit ashamed of himself, feeling that resurgence of lust for his best friend, but he tried to tell himself it was normal to look at an attractive person and it was one thing to look and another thing to act, and Sören knew better than to try to act when Dooku didn't seem interested in him that way.  
  
Meanwhile, Mark was the real deal, to touch and to feel. And even twenty-four hours without him made Sören crave him, kissing Mark passionately as soon as he got in the Jaguar. Sören was feverish enough that Mark, who was well used to Sören's hunger by now, was surprised, laughing softly.  
  
"Wow, Sören," Mark said as he gently pushed Sören off him, so he could drive. "I don't know what's gotten into you -"  
  
"It's more like what's going to get into me." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
Mark laughed - Sören grinned, and felt that flutter in his stomach again; Mark was so beautiful when he laughed. "You are so bad."  
  
" _Takk_."  
  
Sören's stomach growled then, making Mark laugh some more. "Dinner will be ready when we get in," Mark said. "I've had the slow cooker going all day."  
  
"You and Nico both. If you're making the same thing I'll be freaked out." Sören cocked his head to one side. "Whatcha making?"  
  
"Lamb curry."  
  
"Ooooooooh, nice. Nico was making a beef pot roast with vegetables."  
  
"I thought about that but I know you like spicy food, so."  
  
"Well, that was very thoughtful of you." Sören was touched by that, and gave Mark a little kiss. "And yes, I do like things hot."  
  
Mark snorted. "Mmmhmm."  
  
  
_  
  
  
After dinner, Sören wanted to go to bed and have sex right away, but instead Mark dragged him into the bathroom, undressing as the shower ran, the water heating up. "We waited over twenty-four hours," Mark said just before he pinched one of Sören's nipples, "what's another half-hour?"  
  
Before Sören could protest, Mark gave him a kiss and shoved him into the shower. And Sören couldn't complain, really, not when Mark was naked and looked delicious when his body was glistening wet and his mane of hair was wet, and Mark's soapy hands were sliding over him, their hard cocks rubbing together.  
  
When they got out of the shower Sören was more than ready for a good romp, but Mark reminded him, "I did tell you that I would have my way with you tonight... punish you for being so naughty."  
  
Sören's cock throbbed, and he nodded solemnly, swallowing hard.  
  
Mark lit candles on the candelabra around his black-walled bedroom, creating a dramatic, dark romantic ambiance that seemed perfect for what they were about to do, sending a frisson down Sören's spine. Then Mark produced the collar and the leash, putting the collar around Sören's neck and clipping the leash through. He sat on the edge of the canopy bed and took Sören over his knee. The leash was wrapped around one hand, and his free hand cupped Sören's chin as he said, "We're going to start with a good spanking. Twenty strokes. If it hurts too much and you need me to stop, say so."  
  
Sören wiggled his ass with anticipation.  
  
A few slaps in, Sören began rubbing against Mark's thigh, cock and balls aching, feeling the precum dripping as his body sang with pleasure-pain. By the time Mark was halfway through the twenty lashes, slapping Sören's ass harder and harder, Sören was panting for it, almost ashamed of the desperate way he was moaning and whimpering. At last the twenty strikes were done and Mark gently rubbed Sören's stinging ass.  
  
"Such a pretty shade of red," he husked. He had Sören climb down from his lap, onto the bed. He gave a glare of mock disapproval of Sören's cock, which was flushed as deeply as Sören imagined his spanked ass might be, completely slick with precum that was still flowing. "Oh, what a slutty boy you are, enjoying that." Mark took a lick at a pool of precum, tongue brushing the sensitive frenulum feather-light. Sören gasped and cried out, bucking to him. "I punish you for being such a slut, and you love it like a slut. Which means you're going to keep being a slut to get punished more, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes." Sören giggled.  
  
"Incorrigible." Mark licked Sören's cock again. "Insatiable." Another lick and then he came up to kiss Sören open-mouthed, their tongues licking together playfully, sensually. Sören moaned and bucked against him again.  
  
Sören watched as Mark brought out the length of rope that they'd bought at a sex shop in San Francisco over the summer. Mark grabbed Sören's arms one at a time and tied his wrists through the slots of the headboard. Mark ran his fingers down Sören's cheek, giving him a loving look that Sören returned. Then Sören felt Mark speak directly into his mind - the Elven ability of osanwë. Again, if this is too much, tell me to stop.  
  
Mark spoke aloud. "I was horny for you last night, Sören." His voice got husky as he climbed back on the bed. "And since you weren't there... I had to use my hand." Mark gestured to his hard, dripping cock. Then he took himself in hand and began to stroke, slowly. Sören's eyes were riveted, and Sören made a whimper - the sight of Mark stroking himself was delicious, Sören badly wanted to play with or taste or take Mark's cock, and yet he wanted to keep watching Mark stroke it...  
  
"That's right, Sören. You could have had this last night... but you were off being a slut, weren't you?"  
  
Sören nodded, and licked his lips. " _Please_..."  
  
Mark's eyes were like mercury. "Please, what."  
  
"Please, let me take care of that cock for you..."  
  
Mark gave him a small, wicked smile before he closed his eyes, let out a little moan, and began to stroke himself harder and faster. When his eyes met Sören's again the gaze was intense, as if Mark was fucking Sören with his eyes. Sören shivered. It was Sören's turn to moan as he watched Mark's thumb rub the frenulum, watched another drop of precum slide down Mark's shaft.  
  
"I don't know, Sören. You've turned into an awfully spoiled little slut lately..." Mark closed his eyes again and licked his lips, and Sören moaned, louder, Sören's cock throbbing, wanting this gorgeous Elf so badly. Mark opened his eyes again. "And this feels so good I don't think I can make myself stop." Mark shuddered and gave a breathy moan that brought Sören perilously close to orgasm. Sören trembled as precum shot out of him.  
  
"Please, Mark. Oh god."  
  
Mark continued stroking himself. "Mmmmmm, Sören. Ohhhhhh, love." He was breathing harder, working his cock intently. "I came so fucking hard thinking about you last night. Had to bring myself off twice, in fact. Wanting you. Aching for you."  
  
"Mark..." Sören twitched and gave a whimper. "Mark, dammit..."  
  
"You get me so hot, Sören. Looking at you tied up and helpless like that... ready and willing to let me do anything I want to you... that you want to be used..."  
  
"Ohgod." Sören heard himself whine and heat flooded him, almost ashamed of how badly he needed Mark.  
  
Mark's gaze locked with his. "You want to be taken, don't you, Sören."  
  
"Yes," Sören breathed.  
  
"You went out to play yesterday, not just for yourself, but to tease me like the little brat you are... knowing I would tease you right back. Because this is what you want, isn't it? To be tamed. To be mastered, like a fire put to a purpose. You want to be claimed and owned by me."  
  
"God, yes, yes, please, Mark, _fuck me_!" Sören writhed against the restraints, cock jolting at those words, wanting this more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. Sören gave another desperate whine.  
  
Mark was clearly getting himself worked up too, cheeks flushed, cock slick and dripping, stroking himself harder. Mark moaned and Sören did too, just before Sören gave another whine, hole twitching as his cock twinged, balls tightened, aching.  
  
"Mark, please," Sören moaned. "Please, Mark, please, fuck me, take me, claim me..."  
  
Mark shuddered and gave a deep groan at that, but still he kept stroking himself. "That's it, baby. Beg for it."  
  
Sören gave a whimper. "Please, Mark. Please. Oh god, please. Mark. I need it. I need your cock in me so bad. I need you to fuck me. I need you..."  
  
Those were apparently the magic words. With another deep groan, Mark stopped stroking his cock and came over to Sören. He untied Sören's wrists from the bed, and then he tugged on the leash, indicating that Sören should get down on all fours, facing him. Mark offered his cock and Sören hungrily swallowed it down to the hilt, bobbing up and down, sucking hard and fast. Mark held the leash and tugged on Sören's curls, getting vocal with his moans and gasps and sighs as Sören sucked for all he was worth, savoring the taste of Mark's precum, his own cock throbbing, aching for relief.  
  
"That's right. Get this cock ready for you, because I'm going to fuck you hard."  
  
Sören couldn't resist. He took Mark's cock out of his mouth to say, "Hi Going To Fuck You Hard -"  
  
Mark tweaked Sören's nose and then he grabbed Sören's curls even harder and shoved his cock back into Sören's mouth. Sören whimpered with his mouth full, cock leaping, hole twitching, loving it when Mark manhandled him like this. Their eyes locked again, with Sören wanting Mark to see the frenzied, crazy desperation in his eyes, how much he loved being dominated like this. Mark tenderly stroked Sören's face as Sören sucked him, and at last Mark's head was tilted back, lips parted, breathless, eyes glazed and fluttering, a fine sheen of sweat covering him as Sören brought him closer to the edge. Sören reached out to cup Mark's balls and felt them tighten in his hand, rubbing gently. Mark grabbed Sören's curls again and tugged on the leash, taking his cock out of Sören's mouth.  
  
Mark pulled the leash and made a "rise" gesture with his free hand, Sören kneeling on the bed, not able to keep from stealing glances at Mark's very wet, very flushed, very hard cock. "How did you fuck Sharon?" Mark asked point-blank. "What position?"  
  
Sören gave a guilty grin. "It was more than once... and a few different -"  
  
"OK, how did you start."  
  
"She rode me."  
  
"Then you will ride me." Mark lay back against the pillows and brought over their bottle of lube, generously pouring lube over his cock even though it was so slick from precum and Sören's mouth that it wasn't quite needed. He also lubed his fingers, and when Sören straddled his hips, Mark began to work his fingers in and out of Sören. Sören gasped and sighed as Mark found that magic spot in him, pressing on it, rubbing.  
  
"You've been wearing the plug," Mark husked as he played inside.  
  
Sören nodded. "I had it in this afternoon when I did laundry at Nico's."  
  
"Very good." Mark slapped Sören's ass and then slipped his fingers back in, holding the leash with the other hand. Sören moaned as Mark found the prostate again.  
  
A few more minutes of Mark's slick fingers readying Sören, and Sören couldn't take it anymore, howling "JUST PUT IT IN ME ALREADY." Mark laughed softly and guided the tip of his cock to Sören's opening, and both men groaned as Sören sank down, taking him inch by inch.  
  
When Mark was all the way inside, he rested in Sören for a moment, then he slapped Sören's ass. "Start riding me the way she rode you."  
  
Sören obliged, going slowly at first, rocking his hips sensually. Still holding the leash, Mark's hands glided over Sören's body, giving him gooseflesh, his body already oversensitized from the teasing.  
  
Then Sören showed him how Sharon rode him harder. Sören threw back his head and let out a moan, and Mark groaned in response.  
  
"And when she was riding you, you thrust into her?" Mark asked, just before he pinched one of Sören's nipples.  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Mark grabbed Sören's hips and started to thrust, while Sören continued working his hips and ass on Mark's cock. "Was it like that, baby? Did you fuck her like that?"  
  
"It was harder."  
  
Mark thrust harder. Sören gave a cry.  
  
"Like that?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Mark gave him a wicked grin. "Good. Hang on tight, you naughty boy."  
  
With that, Mark started to pound into him. Sören had to grab the headboard for dear life, bouncing away on Mark's cock like he was riding a wild bull. Mark's grip on Sören's hips was tight. Sören's cries and Mark's groans were met by the slap of Mark's balls against Sören's ass, the sound of the bed creaking and rocking.  
  
"That's it, baby. I told you I was going to give you a good, hard fuck."  
  
Just the sound of Mark's voice threatened to bring Sören off, never mind the delicious rubbing inside him or that wild animal rutting fever that came over him. Sören heard himself scream "Oh _shit_ , oh god, Mark, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME -"  
  
"Yes, Sören. You can fuck around... and then you come back to me, and I remind you who you belong to."  
  
"Yes, more, more, oh, fuck, give me more..."  
  
Mark gave a dangerous, feral growl that put Sören right on that edge. Mark slapped Sören's ass and slammed into him harder, growling again at Sören's broken cries.  
  
"Who do you belong to?" Mark rasped.  
  
"You. Oh god, you."  
  
"I want to hear you say it." Mark growled again. "Say my name."  
  
Sören met Mark's eyes and gasped, "Macalaurë."  
  
Mark held his gaze. "That's right. You're mine. Mine. MINE."  
  
Sören couldn't hold back anymore. His cock began to shoot off, his prostate throbbing as he heard himself cry out, "Maglor! Oh, Maglor, _YES_!"  
  
Two thrusts later and Mark spent into him with a deep groan, his entire body shaking. The shuddery sigh Mark made with another jet of seed, and Sören shot again too, giving a wordless cry.  
  
Mark took Sören into his arms and held him close, cradling him, rocking him, petting him. The shattering orgasm, flood of relief, and the sheer magic of whatever that was - the feeling of being owned, belonging - and Sören started to cry, not able to help it.  
  
"Oh, baby." Mark kissed Sören's tears, looking choked up himself. "You OK, love?"  
  
Sören nodded, smiling through his tears. "Jæja. That orgasm. Wow."  
  
For a brief, mad instant, Sören thought about just laying all his cards out on the table, telling Mark his suspicion that he was Fëanor reborn as a mortal, and what would be would be, for better or for worse. There had been something so raw and brutally honest about the passion they'd just shared - Sören's need to be owned, taken care of after what he'd been through, Mark's need to own, possess, claim, after having lost so much - and Sören felt exposed and vulnerable, enough that he came close to going all the way and just saying it. Not shoving it under the rug anymore. Dealing with it finally. He wanted to believe that even if he was wrong, the power of the love they shared would survive that.  
  
And he held back. No. Not time yet. He knew, at last, that he wasn't going to be able to avoid that subject forever - "possibly maybe never telling him" had been an option before tonight, and now that option was gone, in the deep, wild intimacy that had just transpired. But it had to be the right time. It didn't feel right yet. Sören didn't know when that right moment would be, what it would even look like, only that he would know it when it happened, and then, he would finally tell Mark who he thought he was.  
  
Until then... Sören snuggled close to Mark, content to just be. And then contentment gave way to more heat between them, kissing, cocks waking up again, Mark rolling Sören onto his back, still inside him. Mark took Sören's hands in his as he began to thrust, more slowly than before.  
  
"I love you," Mark husked.  
  
"I love you."


	8. Waking The Witch

It was Monday the eighth, and Sören and Mark were having another one of their nights off. Sören decided to spend his evening with his best friend, and Dooku was more than happy to have Sören over, making ciulama de pui with strawberry papanași for dessert. Sören insisted on doing dishes, and then when he was still in the kitchen he took the liberty of making hot chocolate for both of them without being asked, a gesture Dooku appreciated, smiling as Sören brought it out to him.  
  
Dooku's elderly, arthritis-riddled cat Beowulf came out for pettings, and Dooku and Sören started a game of chess. Dooku almost always beat Sören but it was still a fun challenge to Sören to try to win against him, and once in a great while Sören did defeat him. Tonight was not one of those nights, but Sören held in for a decent length of time before things started looking grim.  
  
Dooku brought out ice cream for Sören as a "consolation prize".  
  
"You played well," Dooku told him as he sat.  
  
"You played better," Sören said through a mouthful of ice cream. "You won." Sören sucked the spoon before getting another spoonful.  
  
"You kept me on my toes. It was impressive. Moreso because of your age. I wonder sometimes if the youth these days even play chess anymore, or if it's all Pokemons or -"  
  
"It's Pokemon, not Pokemons," Sören said.  
  
Dooku glared and continued, "Pokemon and Grand Theft Autos -"  
  
"Auto."  
  
"Yes." Dooku's nostrils flared and he adjusted his position. "And various other games that have plural objects and have decided they needn't use plural nouns."  
  
Sören almost spat his ice cream. "Don't ever change, Nico."  
  
"So, yes." Dooku gave a small clear of his throat. "I enjoy having you as a chess partner."  
  
Sören's face flushed, remembering his longing months ago that Dooku would take him as another kind of partner. "I like playing chest with you too. Er, chess. Chess." Sören's face got hotter, thinking about that silver pelt...  
  
Dooku was going to bed early, which was just as well to Sören because he was feeling the itch to paint. Having a lot of good sex, such as he was doing as of late, made him feel more creative, and being in "the zone" creatively made him want to have sex. Sören set up his canvas and easel and paints in the living room as soon as he got home, put on music - not too loud because it was evening now - and he began the process of recreating his sketch of Karen in the seaside garden, with oils. He thought that maybe he might like to give her the painting for Christmas, even though Christmas was a ways off.  
  
As with all of Sören's paintings, he could spend hours and even days with the amount of shading and detail that went into it. The hours wore on, it got later, and Sören was only a sliver into what he saw in his mind's eye. Karen was in a blue dress, wearing a crown of seashells, and her platinum blonde hair was much longer than it was in real life, falling to her waist, and Sören had started a cloak of feathers, being reminded of Freyja from Norse mythology who wore a cloak of falcon feathers to fly between the worlds, except Karen's cloak was of swan feathers. Still bare bones, not the detail it would take on as he worked more at it, and he hadn't even touched the background.  
  
Sören could easily pull an all-nighter when he was in the zone like this, but it was approaching midnight and his night meds were making him sleepy. Still, he kept himself going, so he wouldn't lie awake with his brain keeping him up thinking of things to add here and there.  
  
He did go down to his bedroom to change into pajamas, and to splash cold water on his face to make himself stay up just a little longer, do just a little more before calling it a night. Just as he was about to leave his bedroom to head back to the living room, he heard a wordless shout from Dooku's bedroom, and then Dooku called out, "Sören! _Sören_!"  
  
 _Oh shit, he needs help._ Without thinking about it all of Sören's instincts from med school came roaring back, with Sören grabbing his cell phone in case he needed to call 911, bolting out of his house across the lawn to Dooku's, in his pajamas and bare feet. He started pounding on Dooku's front door, heart racing, breath in a gulp. "Oh god, Nico, please be OK," Sören whispered.  
  
Sören remembered that Dooku had a spare key hidden in the wreath on his door in case of emergencies. Sören began the search for this now, knowing it was on one of the fake birds on the wreath - a dove and two baby birds - but in his panic Sören forgot exactly which one. He got lucky right away, though, pulling the key off the olive branch in the mouth of the dove. Just before he could stick it in the lock, Sören's cell phone went off.  
  
 _I know when that hotline bling  
That can only mean one thing  
I know when that hotline bling  
That can only mean one thing_  
  
That was, of course, Sören's ringtone for Dooku and only Dooku. "Nico?" Sören croaked.  
  
"Sören." Dooku sounded a little breathless. "I'm... I'm fine, Sören."  
  
"Oh. OK." Sören breathed a sigh of relief. "I was about to come in -"  
  
"Oh, no, that's... not necessary." Dooku gave a nervous laugh. "It was... just a dream, that's all."  
  
"Oh. OK, well if you're all right -"  
  
"Yes. Truly. Thank you for your concern." Another nervous laugh. "Good night, Sören." And then Dooku hung up.  
  
 _Well, thank god for that._ Sören put the key back in the dove's mouth and headed back to his house.  
  
As Sören got back in, he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. He'd been on the verge of tears - the thought of anything happening to Dooku filled him with hysteria. As much as he'd lose his mind if Mark left, Sören had a feeling he'd be just as distraught if Dooku died. And that was a fear he could never quite shake, having lost his mother so young... then his sister, in his twenties...  
  
 _God, get it together._ Sören took more deep, slow breaths. But he couldn't stop shaking until he got under his covers and swaddled himself in blankets like he was a human burrito, the desire to do more art gone for the night. He thought of Mark, thought of their passion. Thought of how fully alive he felt, in Mark's arms. It was life he held onto now, gently guiding him into sleep.  
  
_  
  
  
Dooku seemed weirdly avoidant of Sören the next few days - apart from driving him to and from class, when he was otherwise at least giving the appearance of his usual self, Dooku wasn't offering to have Sören come over, or them getting coffee or something else before Sören's dates with Mark. At first Sören chalked it up to the fact that Dooku did in fact have other things to do, like the gym, Krav Maga, fencing... but even with that in place each week, it still felt like an unusual distance, one that made Sören uncomfortable.  
  
On Friday afternoon on the way back from school, Sören finally asked Dooku, "You OK, Nico?"  
  
"I'm fine." Dooku's brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Oh. Well. You know. Since I checked on you Monday night you've just been... kind of weird." And then Sören's heart started racing, remembering the way Dooku cried out, and the panic Sören had felt rushing over there, the worst-case scenarios running through his mind. "Oh god. Nico. Nico. You're not sick, are you?" Sören's mouth made a little "o". "Oh god. Have you been avoiding me because you've got some bad news from the doctor -"  
  
"Oh goodness, Sören, no." Dooku closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "No." He glanced over at Sören with a cryptic look on his face, his eyes a little too bright. "No. As far as I know, my health is fine."  
  
"Nico, you promise me that if that changes, don't do the 'man up' shit and not tell me. I want to know. I want to be there for you -"  
  
"Sören, I'm fine." Dooku gave a nervous chuckle and patted him. Then he gave Sören a pointed look. "I've been... busy. Is all."  
  
 _You better not be dating anyone._ And then Sören felt irrationally angry with himself, considering he and Dooku weren't dating and Sören himself was polyamorous and wouldn't insist on monogamy from partners, only honesty. "Busy how?"  
  
Dooku's chuckle turned into a laugh. "My, aren't we full of questions."  
  
Sören began shaking him. "Nico, you've been avoiding me all week, tell me -"  
  
"As you know, Sören, we're college professors, and have quite a lot to do, or at least I do. And sometimes I take my work home with me." Dooku gently pushed Sören back, since he was still driving. Dooku took a deep breath then and said, "But I should make time for you, my friend."  
  
Sören nodded vehemently. "I've missed you."  
  
"All right. You see Mark this evening, I assume?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Are you spending the entire weekend with him? Can you get away for a bit tomorrow afternoon?"  
  
"Jæja, Mark can go do something for a few hours and come back on Saturday evening. Unless you want to hang out with me and him both...?" And then Sören realized he should clear that with Mark first, who was still hemming and hawing about it.  
  
"I'd rather spend time with just you tomorrow, if that's all right? After all, as you know, we haven't seen much of each other this week..."  
  
"OK! Let's get coffee, and... stuff. We'll think of something to do." Already, Sören felt a lot better.  
  
  
_  
  
  
And so it was that on Saturday the fourteenth, Sören and Dooku went to Starbucks in the afternoon. Dooku hated Starbucks coffee, saying it tasted burnt, but it was pumpkin spice latte season and Sören liked those very much, and Dooku had a hot chocolate.  
  
"I can't believe it's almost two weeks to Halloween," Sören said.  
  
"I would have forgotten if you hadn't told me."  
  
"You realize that I've been here four years and I still haven't done a proper Halloween? I was still letting the dust settle in 2014, and then 2015 and 2016 there was, ah. Seth." Sören cringed, not wanting to sour the cheerful vibe of the afternoon by thinking about his abusive ex. "I really ought to get on the ball."  
  
"The ball of what?"  
  
"Dressing up!" Sören sipped his pumpkin spice latte. "Some of the teachers and students wear costumes on campus... it'd be fun."  
  
Dooku sniffed.  
  
Sören reached out and slapped Dooku's arm. "You should dress up for Halloween!"  
  
"I... I don't. I've been here since the 1970s and I don't..."  
  
"Oh my god, Nico, come on, try it this once..." Sören started poking him. "I don't want to do my first Halloween all by myself. We can, like... lose our Halloween cherry together."  
  
Dooku almost spat his hot chocolate, turning beetroot.  
  
"Losing our Halloween cherry together, like... Halloween bros. Come on, Nico..."  
  
"Sören... you are how old?"  
  
"Nobody's too old for Halloween! Nobody's too old for fun." Sören frowned. "Part of being an adult is being able to say 'fuck you, I can be silly if I damn well please.' And I do please. This year has been about doing nice stuff for myself, finally. It's just... more fun to have someone to do it with." _Mind, gutter._ Sören slurped his latte, face on fire. "Come on, Nico, do it with me..." _Great. That sounds..._  
  
Dooku was still beetroot, looking down. "Er."  
  
"Come on, Nico. Do Halloween with me."  
  
"Sören, please."  
  
"You have to!"  
  
"I shan't."  
  
Sören pouted and gave him the sad puppydog eyes.  
  
A half-hour later they were at a party supply store that had a selection of Halloween costumes. Sören was looking around, feeling mostly uninspired and unimpressed by their selection, and a little grossed out at how sexist and outright racist some of the costumes were.  
  
"This is why I don't do Halloween," Dooku said.  
  
"No, you don't do Halloween because you're an old... stick in the mud." Sören pulled out his phone and did a little research on the Internet, and he and Dooku left the party supply store and went out of town to an actual costume boutique. This one had a much better selection, with far fewer appropriative and objectifying costumes, a lot more variety, and better quality in designs and materials. The prices were upmarket to reflect that these were handmade.  
  
Sören was struck by a Dracula costume, and he looked at Dooku and wheezed. "Oh my god, Nico, you should be Dracula."  
  
"What."  
  
"Oh my god. Please." Sören hung the cape up to Dooku, seeing it was broad enough for his shoulders. "You'd look fabulous." _And hot as fuck._  
  
" _Shan't_."  
  
"Shall."  
  
"Shan't."  
  
"Shall, shall, shallshallshallshallshallshall -"  
  
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose and made a noise. He gave Sören a murderous glare, snatched the cape as fiercely as Beyoncé would snatch a weave, and said, "Very well - one condition. I get to pick out your costume."  
  
Sören folded his arms, waiting for it.  
  
"You are going to be Jon Snow," Dooku said, his eyes narrowed.  
  
"Oh Jesus Christ, like I need to give people even more of a field day with 'HEY IT'S THAT GUY!' 'KING IN THE NORTH!'" Sören narrowed his eyes back at Dooku.  
  
"Do it," Dooku said, "or I shan't be Dracula." He gestured to leather armor with a wolf breastplate and a black-faux-fur-pelted cape. "See, there's even a costume here."  
  
"That cape's all wrong," Sören said. "I'll do it, but... I'm making some alterations to the cape."  
  
That was how Sören and Dooku found themselves at IKEA a second time, Sören buying a black rug. Back at Sören's house, Sören and Dooku trimmed the carpet - Sören made jokes about them "cutting a rug" as music played, making Dooku waltz with him for a moment before getting back to work. Sören stapled the rugs onto the top of the cape once they were cut.  
  
"Satisfied now?" Sören asked.  
  
"Not really, but at least I shan't be ridiculous alone."  
  
Sören gave him a playful swat.


	9. Reaching Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world in the dream sequence is a forthcoming verse called _Unbreakable_. As you may have guessed, the green-eyed Englishman is [this guy](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Anthony%20Hewlett-Johnson%20\(OMC\)/works).

It was Tuesday the seventeenth and Sören was at Mark's for the evening. Mark was cooking in the kitchen for their evening meal, as he did, and Sören was curled up on the couch with Huan, lazily petting him as he zoned out to _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ reruns. At some point Sören had to get up to use the bathroom, and he found himself looking around Mark's bathroom like he was seeing it for the first time even though he'd used it dozens of times before. Mark's house overall tended to be done in a black and white color scheme, and the bathroom was done in shades of grey, with marbled tile on the sink countertop, matching the tile of the floor. Natural seashells held cakes of soap by the sink, a piece of driftwood that had been hollowed out and shaped into a rough tumbler held toothbrushes. On a wall Sören finally noticed a framed print of what he recognized as _Sea and Rain_ by James Abbott McNeill Whistler, from the 19th century, feeling dumb that he'd just mentally skimmed over this until now, struck by the lone melancholy figure wandering the bleak shore.  
  
Sören went more slowly down the hall than he normally did, peeking inside the light-grey-walled guest bedroom, never used, with its futon and black-and-white furniture and rugs, then Mark's dramatic black-walled bedroom with its canopy bed and candelabra and William-and-Mary style furniture. When he went back to the living room, glancing across the open plan to where Mark was busy at the counter in the rustic-yet-modern looking wood-finish kitchen area, Sören didn't sit down right away but made the rounds of the living room.  
  
Sören was finally at a place of visiting Mark often enough to relax, to feel a bit more at home in his house, enough to look and touch. When he'd first begun coming over, even after he and Mark had heart-to-hearts in Sausalito about the future of their relationship, Sören still felt like the sword of Damocles was hanging above his head ready to drop at one false move in Mark's territory, his refuge, where he could be himself unglamoured and indulge himself in the simple pleasures and creature comforts of his time in this world. It wasn't that Mark was unreasonable or made Sören feel uncomfortable at all, it was that Sören was so very not used to being a guest in someone else's home, Dooku's notwithstanding. Sören knew logically that a large amount of this feeling could be attributed to being raised by his aunt and uncle, who were rather resentful of it suddenly becoming their job to take custody of Sören and his siblings when their mother died. Until the day Sören left them he was constantly reminded that he was a guest in their home, and a very poor one. His aunt Katrín would backhand him for spilling a drink by accident. Einar yelled at Sören for having loud asthma attacks that he couldn't help. When Sören did chores there was always something to find fault with. Sören found it hard to relax in other people's spaces, even when they were obviously nothing like his guardians. Mark the Elf felt like home, but his house was still foreign and strange territory that Sören feared would become a war zone if he looked, touched, lived.  
  
It was a good feeling to be bolder about looking and touching, now. Sören was very tactile and there was something about putting his fingers and hands on the different surfaces and textures around Mark's house that was comforting, seemed to build intimacy somehow, sharing space with him rather than just occupying it. Sören smiled fondly at the flamboyant replica of George Lynch's guitar, Mark's huge collection of vinyl records, Mark's war harp, Mark's KISS posters...  
  
...and the KISS action figures. Sören remembered when he'd first seen them.  
  
 _"You have KISS dolls," Sören said.  
  
Mark was indignant. "They are not dolls. Those are KISS action figures."  
  
Sören had to bust his ass some more. "That's quite a collection of KISS dolls you have there."  
  
"Hells, Sören."_  
  
Sören's smile broadened at the memory of seeing Mark's house for the first time. _Well, Kanafinwë, you said to make myself at home, so time to put your money where your mouth is._  
  
One by one, Sören began carrying the KISS action figures to the shelf unit where they were on display, over to the coffee table. He put them in reclining positions, as if they were finally getting some time away from performing onstage to just relax, as Sören was relaxing. Sören had been drinking a non-alcoholic mojito mocktail with a bright pink flowered umbrella in the glass - a nice festive touch from Mark - and now Sören put the umbrella in Gene Simmons's hand like it was a parasol.  
  
Huan smiled, tongue lolling as if he were laughing, as if he were in on the joke.  
  
Sören got back on the couch and waited. Every now and again he shot a glance over at the coffee table where the KISS action figures were sitting and laying in different postures, and stifled a howl at Gene Simmons with a pink umbrella.  
  
Mark finally came in to tell Sören, "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."  
  
"Awesome," Sören said.  
  
Mark raised an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"  
  
Sören gave him an innocent face. "Nothing."  
  
"Sören, you can't fool - oh, Eru."  
  
Sören let out that howl now as Mark saw what was on the coffee table. " _Sören Sigurðsson_ ," Mark yelled, hands on hips, brow furrowed.  
  
Sören almost rolled off the couch.  
  
"Sören, what did you do to my action figures?"  
  
"Your KISS dolls told me they need a break from performing all the time. 'I don't think this is how the Song works,' Ace Frehley told me. 'When we said we want to rock and roll all night and party every day, we didn't mean non-stop, forever.'"  
  
Mark's glare intensified.  
  
"So," Sören shrugged. "I helped your KISS dolls escape their slave labor -"  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson, those are KISS action figures and they are not performing slave labor -"  
  
"Your KISS dolls beg to differ."  
  
Mark facepalmed. "I cannot believe I am having this conversation with you."  
  
"I can't believe it either. You should be having this conversation with Gene Simmons or Ace Frehley or one of the others. That's far more respectful." Sören grinned.  
  
" _HELLS._ " Mark went back into the kitchen.  
  
 _That's a great idea, Mark, next time your unicorn can play too._ Sören giggled to himself as he pondered different scenarios for the action figures' taste of freedom.  
  
When dinner was served, Sören joined Mark at the table. Mark had made skewers of marinated pieces of chicken, steak and shrimp grilled with pineapple, mango, peppers, mushrooms, and potatoes. Sören loved it, and especially the nod to Mark having made skewers on the grill semi-regularly over their summer in Sausalito. Mark also clearly wasn't angry with Sören, romantic music playing in the background, candles lit on the table, Mark playing footsie with Sören under the table.  
  
The sensuality and flirtatiousness of the meal was enough that Sören was good and ready for sex, wishing they would go straight to the bedroom, but he and Mark had already planned to get in at least a few hours of creating together, something they'd started doing in Sausalito, energies playing well even before they became intimate.  
  
And so it was that Sören set up the canvas and easel and paints he'd brought over, continuing work on the painting he'd started of Karen in the seaside garden, while Mark sat at his war harp. Some nights when Sören had painted as Mark played, Mark would improvise, making sound recordings of his spontaneous compositions to play back and make notations of later. Tonight, though, Mark was playing all cover songs on his harp - all metal, which seemed a good fit for Sören's painting of a battle scene. Mark started with "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC, which impressed Sören with the lightning speed of his fingers.  
  
As Sören fleshed out the painting, more and more details and little touches he hadn't foreseen were creeping in - and the painting suddenly turned darker, edgier than first intended. Karen was holding a wand in her hand, and a silver-blue energy was coming out of it, conjuring a swan made of silver-blue light. It reminded Sören for all the world of something out of Harry Potter, and sure enough there were shadow-demons like Dementors coming at her, silver-blue energy coming back at them, fighting them off. There was a wild look on Karen's face, her mane of platinum hair blowing in the breeze. The elegant blue dress and swan feather cloak made it look like for all the world she was coming back from a concert or theatre or perhaps a nightclub; Sören added a multi-strand necklace of pearls around her neck.  
  
Karen did magical battle against the Dementors with her swan companion, the walled garden by the sea behind her looking like it was made of starlight in the silver-blue energy conjured from her wand, to Mark playing AC/DC, Metallica, Slayer, on his harp. Sören broke out in gooseflesh to "Enter Sandman" on the harp as his brush painted the Dementor, feeling the chill of the negative energy, met by Karen's own passion and fire. _Not tonight. Not today._  
  
After close to four hours Mark had to take a break to flex his fingers, at which point Sören stopped painting. The canvas wasn't quite finished, but it was well on its way there, and Sören was pleased with it so far, shaping up to be one of his best pieces.  
  
And yet, he felt a touch self-conscious about it, moreso when Mark came over to him, putting an arm around him as he looked at the painting.  
  
"Wow," Mark said. "Is that a present for your TA? She'll love that."  
  
"Oh god." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "I feel like such a stupid fanboy, making fucking Harry Potter art..."  
  
"It's not stupid! That painting is very well done."  
  
"It's stupid." Sören remembered Seth belittling his art, Seth belittling the things Sören was interested in, like Sören's love of the Harry Potter world. Sören remembered one afternoon when Seth was over and they were both reading, with Sören engrossed in one of the Harry Potter novels that he'd re-read and still enjoyed. _That's for babies. Grownups don't need unrealistic fantasy worlds,_ Seth had sneered over his copy of _Atlas Shrugged_.  
  
"It. Is. Not. Stupid." Mark glared. "Sören, I can feel the energy in this painting. It drew me right in, like... looking into another world."  
  
"I felt like I was transported there," Sören admitted. "But I mean, like... Harry Potter is fictional, right?"  
  
Mark shrugged. "I'm fictional, supposedly."  
  
Sören grasped at humor, not liking where this was going. "Hi Fictional Supposedly -"  
  
"Brat." Mark gave him a playful swat and tweaked his nose. Then Mark went on, "But yes, supposedly the works of Ronald Tolkien are fictional and you and I both know -"  
  
"As you know..."  
  
"That they are not." Mark pursed his lips. "And if they are not, who is to say that this is strictly fictional and not 'real', either?"  
  
"Oh come on, Mark, you really think that there's something like... fucking... Hogwarts... over there in Scotland? That there's witches and wizards walking about?"  
  
"Probably not in this world. But maybe in another."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped. "So you believe in... like... alternate universes."  
  
"Isn't your brother the astrophysicist one of the biggest proponents of this idea? It makes sense. As unsettling as that is." Mark shrugged. "Once in awhile, I have dreams, very vivid dreams, where I am living or observing events that feel real - and Elves tend to only remember our lives when we dream, we don't have the regurgitation of subconscious thoughts and issues - except whatever's happening isn't anything that I've lived through, here. And there are subtle and sometimes, not-so-subtle differences about where it's happening. I can't prove anything definitively, but I wouldn't be surprised if I'm getting..." Mark searched for the right word and made a vague hand gesture. "Echoes, I suppose you could call it, of other places. And it may be that some creative people are also experiencing these echoes and weaving it into story form whether they know what they're doing or not, and just like Ronald Tolkien didn't get everything right in his narrative, maybe 'canon' isn't strictly canonical... but there's some truth to it nonetheless."  
  
Huan came over for pettings, as if he sensed the tension in the air. Sören scooped him up and Huan kissed his face over and over, his tongue even going inside Sören's nose, warm dark eyes understanding. "You have the best dog," Sören said, and sighed, feeling wistful for a cat.  
  
"He's such a good boy, aren't you, Huan?" Mark rubbed Huan's head, and Huan licked Mark's hand. Then Mark said to Huan, "You wanna go for walkies?"  
  
Huan yipped as if he understood Mark and leapt out of Sören's arms, waggling his tail frantically, panting and barking.  
  
"In today's episode of How Is My Life Even Real, Maglor Fëanorion just used the word 'walkies'," Sören said, and then he realized he'd spoken aloud. He needed some more levity to get out of the place he was in mentally. "I suppose that's not weirder than Maglor Fëanorion having a collection of KISS dolls."  
  
"Mhm. Sören, I think you should come on walkies too." Mark gave Sören a look, mischief in his eyes.  
  
That was how Sören found himself walking through Mark's neighborhood late at night, with Mark pulling Huan on the leash on one hand, and Sören on a leash in Mark's other hand. Sören was indescribably turned on by Mark walking him on a leash, especially when Mark playfully tied Sören's leash to a mailbox while he took Huan aside for Huan to do his business, and politely scooped it up, Sören waiting. Sören loved it when Mark got dominant with him, and he loved being on the leash in particular. Being on the leash outside, in public... it was so brazen, so naughty, so kinky, so delicious. The only way this could be better is if it were broad daylight and people around, Sören thought to himself, hard as a rock and aching for Mark's touch.  
  
After they got inside, Sören took his meds, they washed up and brushed teeth, and then, still on the leash, Sören was marched down to Mark's bedroom. Mark undressed Sören himself, and then he had Sören get on the bed and tied him to a bedpost while Mark undressed slowly, teasingly, Sören's eyes feasting on him with that glorious flood of raven hair and his sculpted body, a wicked look in Mark's silver eyes.  
  
Sören was trembling, already leaking precum, breathing hard, when Mark joined him on the bed. Mark untied the leash from the bedpost and pulled Sören towards him, eyes intense, looking at Sören like he was the only thing in existence.  
  
"You," Mark said to Sören, "are a brat."  
  
"Takk." Sören grinned.  
  
Mark swatted Sören's ass hard, and Sören cried out, cock throbbing.  
  
"Sometimes I think it's not Huan who needs to go to doggy training..." Mark raised an eyebrow, smirking. "But you." Mark kissed Sören, and then began kissing Sören's neck, breath hot on Sören's sensitive skin, giving him gooseflesh. "But you'd like that too much, wouldn't you?" He licked Sören's neck. "Naughty puppy."  
  
Sören's cock jolted and he whimpered. "Oh god, Mark..."  
  
"Mmmmm, does my puppy like that?" Mark nibbled on Sören's neck. "Bratty, naughty puppy..."  
  
"Oh, fuck." Sören shuddered, going out of his mind with sexual hunger. "Please, Mark." Sören gave a little whine. "Please..."  
  
"Get down on your hands and knees like a dog, Sören."  
  
Sören did as he was told, cock throbbing, hole twitching. Sören shook his ass at Mark, who pulled out the plug and gave Sören's ass another hard slap. "Such a pretty ass my puppy has. All of you is beautiful, but your ass is so very shapely." Mark rubbed Sören's ass, and slapped it again, and again. "And it looks so fuckable when it's all red."  
  
"Oh. God. Mark. Please. Fuck. Me." Sören whined again, shook his ass, feeling like he was going to die if Mark didn't stick his cock in him soon. Sören could hear himself panting for it, feel himself trembling, almost ashamed of how strong his need was... but he was shameless. Wanton. Reveling in it, taking back his sexuality more and more from the clutches of Seth, going ever deeper into sweet surrender.  
  
"Oh, I don't think brats should get what they want right away, love..."  
  
With that, Mark got down on his knees and maneuvered Sören so that Sören, still on all fours, had his ass against Mark's face. Sören cried out as he felt Mark's clever tongue lick slowly around his opening, around and around and around, and he cried out again when Mark's tongue pushed inside.  
  
Mark teased him and teased him, rubbing his tongue inside Sören as slowly as could please, making little hums of pleasure. Mark's tongue slowly brushing his prostate was the darkest of magic, Sören's cries getting more and more broken as Mark drove him crazy with sensation, pleasure, frenzy. World War III could be happening right in Mark's yard and Sören would only care about that sweet tongue sensually dancing inside him, the promise of Mark's hard cock pounding him. Mark ate him for a long time, continuing to toy with the leash, until Sören was almost sobbing, every last shred of dignity gone as he begged "Please. Please. Mark, please, please give me your cock, put your cock in me, fuck me, I need it so bad, I need it so fucking bad, please, Mark, please, _please_ , PLEASE, fucking PLEASE!"  
  
Mark laughed softly and withdrew his tongue. He slapped Sören's ass again and then he said, "Scoot to the middle of the bed, face down, ass up."  
  
Sören did as he was told. He could feel the precum pooling from his cock as he repositioned, his hole twitching again.  
  
Mark got on the bed and on his knees behind Sören. Sören gasped at the feeling of lube pouring into the crack of his ass, dripping into his hole, and he whimpered at the wet squishing sound of Mark readying his cock. Then, finally, Mark was pushing into him an inch at a time, with Sören whimpering all the way, pushing out around him to help him in, wanting this so badly. When Mark was all the way inside he pulled the leash hard.  
  
"There," Mark rasped. Sören could hear the catch in Mark's breath, heard Mark breathing harder, and that was so sexy to him. Sören moaned, and Mark slapped Sören's ass again. "Your ass isn't just beautiful, and delicious, but it feels fucking incredible." With the leash wound around his hand, Mark grabbed Sören's hips and began to thrust, slowly. "It feels like coming home."  
  
Sören gave a shuddery sigh. _If only you knew, my Kanafinwë._ Again, that urge to tell him everything. But...  
  
Mark went slowly for a couple of minutes, teasing them both, and then, after slapping Sören's ass again he started to go harder, faster. "Oh god, yes, like that," Sören cried out, fisting the sheets, letting out a wordless cry as Mark's cock rubbed his prostate just right.  
  
"Mmmmmmm. Ohhh, Sören. Fuck, you've got such a hot ass, baby."  
  
"Mark. Mark. Fuck me. Oh god, fuck me. Need you so bad..."  
  
"That's right, Sören. You need this, because... you're mine." Mark slapped Sören's ass again and Sören's cock jolted. Sören gave a whimper into the pillows, trembling, and he felt himself rock his hips back at Mark, fucking himself on Mark's cock. "Oooh, that's it, baby. Back that ass up onto me."  
  
"Fuck..."  
  
The rhythm of their bodies felt so incredibly right. Sören lost himself, fevered, consumed with his lust, his passion.  
  
"You've been such a bratty boy today," Mark husked, giving Sören's ass another little swat. "You come in, you touch my things and move them around like they belong to you. Like what is mine is yours, somehow."  
  
"Isn't it?" That response came directly from the part of him that was Fëanor.  
  
Mark slapped Sören's ass again, harder. "Well, my little flame, not even Huan in his worst moments is that bratty. You're a special kind of bratty. A very, very naughty puppy. But it's OK." Mark spanked Sören's ass again. "Because what's yours... is mine too. Like this ass. Isn't it?"  
  
"God, yes. YES..." Sören rocked against Mark harder, faster.  
  
Mark matched Sören's rhythm. "You're mine... and I'm going to take what's mine. Every time you act like a little brat, I'm going to put you in your place..."  
  
Sören grinned, loving it, wanting to goad him. "Hi Going To Put You In Your Plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace ohhhhhhhhh SHIIIIIIIT!" Then Sören let out a wordless scream as Mark began to pound into him, fucking harder and harder. Sören heard himself making wild, inhuman high-pitched noises, not able to make words anymore. Mark gave deep, delicious grunts, primal and male, and that and the filthy smacking of their hips drove Sören right to that edge, ready to come.  
  
"Mine," Mark growled. "Mine. _Mine_."  
  
Sören found his words again. "Take it. Take it. Fucking take it..."  
  
A moment that felt like an eternity of Mark hammering away inside him, Sören's insides rubbed so sweetly his entire body sang, as if he were a musical instrument and Mark was playing him. And then, at last, the release, the endless perfect note of joy, Sören shaking, gasping for breath as he contracted and pulsed with wave after wave of relief, euphoria. A few seconds after Sören began to climax he felt Mark shooting, heard Mark's triumphant shout.  
  
Mark was laying on top of Sören's back now, nuzzling his shoulder, petting his curls, the two of them trembling together, trying to catch their breath.  
  
"That," Sören said, the smile hurting his face, "was fucking awesome."  
  
"We're good together, my love." Mark tilted Sören's face and kissed him softly.  
  
The kiss quickly heated, the fire in them rising again. "More," Sören begged.  
  
Mark pulled out, and Mark rolled next to Sören, laying back against the pillows then sitting up a little. Sören climbed onto Mark's lap and began to ride, more slowly than before. Mark's long, elegant sensitive fingers played over Sören's body, worshiping him, and Sören worshiped Mark right back, playing with Mark's hair, exploring the sculpted muscles, the chiseled face. They kissed and kissed, looking into each other's eyes. And when Mark pulled the leash Sören rode harder, faster, each tug of the leash making him speed up until Sören was riding him like a wild bull, both of them moaning and crying out together louder and louder. Sören shooting all over Mark's chest and stomach made Mark come again, and Mark grabbed Sören and pulled him close, kissing him through their climax like their life depended on it.  
  
They didn't always stop at two orgasms, sometimes going for more, but the two were shattering enough that Sören found himself dozing off in Mark's arms, cradled against his chest. While he was still half-awake, not quite yet in the land of sleep, he felt Huan get on the bed, and Huan licked Sören's face all up before curling up with them; Sören felt his hand reach out to pet the pup, finding it incredibly soothing.  
  
 _I love this dog._ Sören sighed. _I really need a cat._ He thought of Beowulf, keeping Dooku company across town, Beowulf who had given him so much comfort when he'd been staying at Dooku's house after the car accident last year.  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
  
It's a winter night, snow on the ground, deep plum starry sky above. Sören's breath steams in the night air. Sören is wearing a black leather trenchcoat over a sweater and jeans, and he is with a man in a black wool greatcoat that looks World War II era but this isn't World War II. The man in the greatcoat is a couple inches taller than him and looks to be only a little older than he is, the first show of grey in his short, perfectly styled and gelled black hair. Clean-shaven, pale, classically handsome, watchful green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. It is not a man Sören recognizes from the world outside his dream - not Mark, not Dooku, not Seth, not anyone Sören has ever seen before. Someone different.  
  
Someone he loves, who makes his stomach flutter every time the man smiles at him, no matter how many times it's been.  
  
The man is on a cell phone. "OK, _takk for at du ga beskjed, jeg vil være der første om morgenen._ " He ends the call and then with an eyeroll and a little smile he says, in English, "Muggles. Seriously." He has a London accent, well-bred, a deep, commanding baritone - not quite as deep as Dooku's, but pleasant to listen to.  
  
"Your parents were Muggles."  
  
"Yes, of course, and I heard all the 'mudblood' nonsense to boot and it made me angry every time. They have no idea what our life is really like, though, and what's practical for us."  
  
They have a house somewhere semi-rural, yet close enough to the city to do what they need to do. The Northern Lights are shimmering in the sky now, green and violet, lighting up the white snow on the evergreens, and Sören and his companion stop for a few moments just to watch, in wonder. This isn't Iceland, much more forested, but it feels like home. And dream-Sören is from this place, familiar with it. Waking-day Sören guesses Norway.  
  
As the Northern Lights play in the sky and they hold each other's hands, they watch a shooting star fall. Sören's breath catches. He squeezes his companion's hand and whispers, "Make a wish." His accent is different here than it normally is, but still thick.  
  
The man closes his eyes for a moment and then he opens them, smiles at Sören, and ruffles Sören's curls. The fire of the aurora begins to die down and they decide to head inside.  
  
As soon as they do they begin getting each other out of their coats, then their clothes pool to the floor, kissing feverishly. Already they're hard for each other. They reach into their pockets and pull out wands, as they do by force of habit.  
  
A black-and-white tuxedo cat with chartreuse eyes and a pink nose comes out to greet them. "Prrrp?"  
  
"Yes, you always like attention at the most inconvenient times, don't you?" the man laughs as the cat walks around their ankles in circles, rubbing against them, purring. They keep walking, trying to be mindful to not trip on the cat, down to the bedroom. They kiss on the way there, hands sliding over each other - Sören enjoys the feel of the dark chest hair on his fingers. Hard cocks rubbing together. Sören's is pierced, as usual, and he has nipple rings, but no tattoos.  
  
Their bedroom is dark. "Lumos," Sören says, pointing his wand, and lanterns placed around the bedroom cast an eerie but romantic silver-blue light, which makes them both smile. Sören is pulling his lover along to the bed but before they can go there, his lover stops - wand in hand - and he points down the hall and says, "Wingardium leviosa." Sören watches with amusement as the clothes move from the floor down the hall to the laundry hamper.  
  
"So romantic," Sören teases before he pulls his lover into another kiss.  
  
"Well, one of us has to think of these things, and it seems to default to me." His lover's lips quirk, before he removes his glasses and puts them in a case on a dresser; they put their wands on the dresser, side-by-side. "They won't be so badly wrinkled now."  
  
"Ja, Mr. Fabulous." Sören crinkles his nose and bites his lower lip, moving in for another kiss. "Well, you look pretty fine without clothing, too. Better, actually."  
  
"And you, darling, have a one-track mind." His lover kisses him back, smiling. "Not that I mind."  
  
"You're beautiful," Sören husks, stroking the man's cheek, looking into those teasing eyes, meaning it.  
  
The man walks them a few paces, closer to the mirror on top of the dresser that the glasses case and wands are sitting in front of - the mirror that is an exact match for the one Sören owns in the waking world. In the blue glow of the room, Sören watches as the man's arms wrap around him from behind and his hands run over Sören's body. "You yourself are beautiful, _elskling_." The man pets Sören's curls, strokes his beard, kisses Sören's neck, licks, making Sören shiver and moan at the talented mouth on his sensitive spot. Sören moans again as his lover's fingers brush a nipple, pebbling it. His lover plays with the nipple ring, giving Sören gooseflesh. Then his hand rests on Sören's heart. "Especially here."  
  
"What did you wish for?"  
  
The man steps to Sören's side and takes Sören in his arms again in the mirror. "To grow old with you." He rains tender little kisses over Sören's face. "I'm the luckiest man in the world, to have you. To marry you, soon."  
  
Sören can't resist. "Hi, The Luckiest Man In the World -"  
  
"Brat." The man nibbles on him.  
  
Then the cat is yowling from down the hall. "MEOW? MEOW. MEOW. MEOWWWWWWW, MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW..."  
  
Sören feels that something-is-wrong prickle, all too familiar in his career as an Auror. When they exchange glances he knows his lover feels it too, himself an Auror. Then they feel something else - a cold snap. Usually the room heats up whenever they make love together but now the temperature is starting to drop, enough to give Sören, who usually runs hot, a chill.  
  
Hastily they throw on pajamas while there's still time. Sören's heart is racing, feeling panic, and also irritation. " _Drit, faen, selvfølgelig må denne tullingen skje nå når jeg er i ferd med å få på meg faen..._ "  
  
Just as they grab their wands, the lanterns go out in the bedroom, leaving them in complete darkness. Magic missiles are being hurled against the shields around the house, not quite penetrating, just enough to vibrate and be felt, and the feeling is ugly. They run down the hall, and as the door opens Sören feels a wave of terror, frozen in place. He wants to drop to his knees and lay on the ground, hands over his head. His lover's mouth is open, breath in a gasp, shaking - Sören knows he's feeling the same fear.  
  
Glass shatters, and his lover grabs him and they push on ahead.  
  
There are great whirling shadows in the sky. Sören is reminded of the painting The Scream by Edvard Munch but these are real and in the flesh, like clouds of ash in alien-human form, writhing, hideous, screaming, keening in a way that Munch's dark mind couldn't possibly conceive of.  
  
"Dementors," his lover says just as one swoops towards them.  
  
That wave of fear again, no fight, no flight, only freeze. Too weak. Sören knows that's bullshit, but his body is refusing to comply with the logic part of his brain. They're closing in now, the darkness pressing, crushing like a vise...  
  
His lover raises his rowan wand, and commands, "Expecto Patronum!"  
  
Sören watches as a beam of light shoots out of the wand and takes the form of a mighty falcon made of blue light, stardust dripping from him like drops of water from an ocean.  
  
Sören raises his own wand made of elder, and shouts out "Expecto Patronum!"  
  
Blue light blasts out of his wand and a phoenix flies to join his lover's falcon, made of blue-orange-gold-white flame but tinged with silver-blue in the light of the Patronus charm. Blue light mingles with orange fire like the sun at dawn. The Patronus falcon and phoenix begin to dance around each other, a mating dance, spiraling together. At last their tails entwine and the light between them grows brighter brighter brighter, like a white supernova. The Dementors give one last shriek as the white light swallows them up, as everything goes white like a nuclear flash.  
  
Then it is just their Patronus birds, feathers flying, and Sören and his lover are in each other's arms, shaking. They kiss passionately, glad to be alive. The Dementors are gone. All is quiet. All seems to be well, apart from the glass shattered of the car windows. That can be dealt with tomorrow.  
  
They stumble back into the house. His lover heads to the kitchen, turns on the lights. "I'll put on tea," he grumbles.  
  
 _You are so British it hurts, sometimes._ "Ja, _takk._ " Sören shivers from being outside in the cold in nowt but his pajamas, though the cold snap from the Dementors is gone now, the room warming with both of them present.  
  
The cat crawls out from where he's been hiding under the couch. Sören scoops him up and sits with the cat on his lap, kneading, flexing polydactyl paws, purring. Sören tries to breathe. They won that battle, but having Dementors just show up like that, well...  
  
His lover comes back with tea and sits down. "Well, that was... interesting," his lover says.  
  
"Ja, no shit." Their place is warded enough that what just happened wasn't supposed to happen, which suggests perhaps dark wizards are around somewhere...  
  
His lover frowns. "I think we just entered another round of interesting times. Even by Auror standards. I'd rather hoped fate would cut us a break before the wedding, but..."  
  
"Never a dull moment."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören woke up to Huan licking his face, and then saw Mark watching them with a fond smile. Sören laughed - there were worse ways to start a day.  
  
After Huan got off the bed and Sören and Mark indulged in a "good morning" sixty-nine, Sören lay there thinking about the doozy of the dream he had. He wasn't surprised his brain regurgitated Harry Potter stuff, since he'd been thinking about it, but the dream was unusually vivid even for him, right down to the gorgeous Englishman he'd never seen before, and the Patronus birds dancing together, building light, being very much the same as the vision he'd had in his mind's eye when he made his first painting in the hospital in 2005 following his suicide attempt in late 2004 - the art he'd inked onto his back.  
  
Mark was the one to drop Sören off at campus today, and on break Sören had coffee with Dooku, who showed him some cell phone pictures of Beowulf being particularly snuggly and cute last night. Sören thought of the cat in his dream last night, feeling a sharp ache. He hadn't told Mark about the dream - he was still letting it sit, not knowing what it meant, what if anything to do about it. But he really wanted a cat now, and when Dooku was bringing him home, Sören texted Mark.  
  
 _You think you can come early?_  
  
 _How soon?_ Mark replied.  
  
 _Now._  
  
When Mark got there, Sören explained, "I want a cat. Can you take me to the animal shelter?"  
  
Mark's laughter rang out. "God, Sören, so impulsive. Swear to Eru, sometimes you're just like -"  
  
Sören cut him off before he could say "Fëanor", because Sören wasn't quite ready to chime in with _"Actually..."_  
  
"It's not that impulsive," Sören said, though he realized it did in fact look a damn sight impulsive. "I've been wanting a cat for awhile, it's just... you know. A big commitment. But I'm ready now."  
  
At the animal shelter Sören spent awhile looking at the different cats, wanting to take them all home, but of course that was neither practical nor sanitary. He had to limit himself to one - for now. He went back and forth between the ones he liked the best, and then one came out that he hadn't seen yet, who had been sleeping inside the cat condo. The cat was the spitting image of the cat he'd seen in his dream last night, right down to the polydactyl paws.  
  
The cat went right up to him, with Sören on his knees in the cat habitat. "Prrrp?"  
  
"Oh my goodness, look at you." Sören began petting him all up, like the cat was a long-lost friend. The cat had a deep, rumbly purr, and promptly climbed on Sören like he owned him, settling in Sören's arms. Sören continued to stroke the cat. " _Ert þú ekki dýrmætt barn. Þvílíkt sætt litla elskan. Ó, hvað góður, snaggi litli köttur._ "  
  
Mark chuckled. "If you're losing your English, that must be the one."  
  
Sören paid the adoption fee and bought a cat carrier on-site. The cat yowled in the carrier on the way back, not liking the ride home in Mark's Jaguar or Huan being so close by, though Huan was mellow, just looking at the cat.  
  
"Shit, I'm gonna need, like... litter, and, ah. A litterbox. And ah. Food. And stuff." Sören facepalmed.  
  
"But it's not that impulsive," Mark teased.  
  
Sören bitchfaced and Mark booped his nose.  
  
"I feel bad about making kitty sit in the car," Sören said, "while we run in and buy things."  
  
"Well, I have a solution to that. You take kitty home - kitty needs a name - and get him adjusted and I'll go pick up cat supplies, and stuff for dinner - we can celebrate new kitty. Sound good?"  
  
"You're such a love." Sören kissed Mark's cheek.  
  
Sören let the cat out of the carrier and let him sniff around the house, inspecting it. He put out a bowl of water right away for the cat to drink if he was thirsty, then realized that might make the cat have to pee and the box wasn't there yet.  
  
According to the shelter the cat was approximately two years old though they weren't sure on an exact date. He was male and neutered. Sören sat on the kitchen floor to watch the little guy drink, delighted and fascinated by the pink tongue lapping up water. Then the cat crawled right back onto him again, wanting to be held. Sören gave the cat more pettings, and kisses. He once again wondered what was up with that dream, and finding a cat just like his dream.  
  
 _Well, I don't know if I want to poke at that shit right now. My brain can only handle so much of this at once._  
  
The cat kneaded on him and began rubbing his face on Sören's hand, drooling. "Oh, aren't you such a good baby," Sören cooed, and then he lost his English again. " _Sætasti kisinn alltaf! Þú ert bara dýrmæt snúður sem er of góð fyrir þessa jörð, já þú ert það._ " Then Sören squeaked and he switched back to English. "That's it! Snúður!" What Americans would call a sticky bun or cinnamon roll.  
  
Carrying the cat, Sören walked down the hall and then put the cat down on his bed. Instead of settling down for pettings Snúður continued to sniff around, and Sören decided to just get in his pajamas, that the cat might find the flannel cozier to cuddle up to.


	10. Watching You Without Me

Sören got some more work done on the painting of Karen on Snúður's first night home, while Mark played his acoustic guitar - again, a series of covers. And at last, Sören decided it was as good as it was going to get.  
  
In the afterglow of their lovemaking that night, with Mark holding Sören close, Snúður on one side of them and Huan on the other, Sören started thinking about Seth again, all the nasty things Seth had said about his art, his hobbies. Mark noticed Sören looking pensive and stroked his curls, kissed the top of Sören's head. "What's wrong, puppy?"  
  
Sören loved it when Mark called him that. There were a lot of things bothering Sören at the moment, but Sören went with the one that was easiest to discuss - for some measure of "easiest" - since he didn't want to bring up the dream he had, or reincarnation just yet.  
  
"Thinking about the shit Seth used to say about my work." Sören sighed. "You know me, I'm a perfectionist with my art. If there's a hundred people and ninety-nine of them like what I did and one person doesn't, I'm going to be focusing on that one person who doesn't, my brain picking it apart, analyzing to death, wondering what I'm doing wrong."  
  
"Sören, from everything you've told me about Seth, he sounds like his opinion doesn't matter, period. You know what else I think? I think he was jealous that you could make awesome things and he can't. He's just some office drone who thinks he's a lot smarter than he actually is. I still don't know how you ended up with that idiot."  
  
"OK, but I mean... in general, I worry about the finished product not being good enough. Never being good enough. I still have the compulsion to make art and put it out there anyway, but -"  
  
Mark sighed. "Yeah. Sören, let me give you a heartfelt piece of advice, one creative person to another. In the words of your boy Jay-Z, 'Fuck critics, they can kiss my whole asshole.'"  
  
Sören howled. He doubled over, wheezing, tearing up. "Maglor... did you just... quote... Jay-Z."  
  
"I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one. Biatch."  
  
Sören lost it, gigglesnorting, laughing so hard his sides cramped, tears blinding him. He couldn't remember ever laughing so hard in his life, tickled by the surreality of the ancient Macalaurë Fëanorion quoting Jay-Z. "Mark. Ow. _Ow._ "  
  
Mark grinned, pleased with himself. He rocked Sören a little, pet him some more, kissed the top of his head. When Sören calmed down, Mark went on, "OK. Now seriously... people are entitled to dislike things for whatever reason - such as having no goddamn taste - and you are entitled to disregard their opinion and do what you want anyway. I get it that your brain nitpicks that one piece of criticism versus ninety-nine people saying it's great. But clearly, you're still doing what you do anyway, and you have to allow yourself that. Give yourself permission to not give a fuck. As perfectionistic as my Ada was, and as damaging as his own father's criticism was, he gave no fucks whatsoever. He made what he wanted, he did what he wanted. No apologies, no compromise. In the end, yes, he went mad, and in your lifetime I can see how beaten down you are, what people have said and done to you. But I truly feel that part of your own journey of recovery needs to involve letting yourself give, if not zero fucks, fewer fucks than you currently do. You can't let the fear of 'what if someone doesn't like this' stifle your creative urges. That's not just insulting to your own gifts and the beautiful art you create, it's an insult to creativity itself. It's an insult to the Song, and it's an insult to the Flame... an insult to my father's memory. Your fire deserves to burn, Sören. Let it shine, don't worry about what others think. You can't please everybody. Nor should you. That's not the point of creating. It's always nice when other people appreciate and compliment what we do, of course it is... but ultimately it's about expressing a piece of the Song, manifesting it. That need unites humans across cultures, across creeds. It's even one thing humans and Elves have in common - or at least the Noldor, anyway. When you resist the urge to snuff that fire and just let it burn, it resists the darkness, the emptiness, the Void. It bears witness to the Song."  
  
Sören had chills. He had a tight ache in his chest, loving Mark even more for his words, for his depth, the experience lived behind those words, the magic in him.  
  
Sören kissed Mark - the only response he could properly make, as caught up in emotion as he was. The passion smouldered, ready to catch fire again.  
  
But it was already late at night, and Mark looked at the clock and gave Sören a gentle, sweet kiss, patting him. "We've got school in the morning, babe, we need to get some sleep."  
  
Sören pouted, but he knew Mark was right. Mark's arms tightened around him, and Sören drew Mark's flood of hair around him like a blanket as he snuggled in. Then there was that feeling of starlight wrapping around him, easing away the tension and the trouble, a soft nest of stardust that pulled him in, his body and mind shimmering into the darkness.  
  
_  
  
  
On Thursday morning Sören went to campus with Dooku, so Mark could bring Huan to training in Lebanon. This was just as well, as Sören felt even more unsettled by last night's dream than the one he had previously.  
  
He also felt defiant, taking Mark's words to heart. His art was a living "fuck you".  
  
So while Sören was originally going to give the painting to Karen for Christmas, he decided he'd surprise her and give it to her now. And indeed, it felt rather like he was supposed to.  
  
Despite Sören's feeling of defiance and devil-may-care with bringing the painting to give to Karen today, he still felt a slight hesitation, and waited until the end of the day to bring it out, wrapped up.  
  
"I, ah. I made you something," Sören said, feeling bashful.  
  
"Oh?" Karen smiled as she took the wrapped canvas. She unwrapped it, and then when she saw the finished painting, her jaw dropped. She blinked, looking as if she was in shock.  
  
Karen kept looking at the canvas, and at Sören, and back to the canvas, and back at Sören, and there was a look on her face like disbelief. She covered her gaping mouth, but her eyes were still wide and she took a couple steps back.  
  
 _Oh god. Oh no. She doesn't like it. Of course she doesn't, it's stupid, I'm a huge dork..._  
  
Karen's eyes closed for a moment and her arms wrapped around the painting and she said quickly, "Thank you, Sören, that was very thoughtful of you." She opened her eyes and they were full of tears. "Excuse me, I have to go." She ran out of the classroom, carrying the painting with her.  
  
"Oh great, I fucking creeped her out, too." Sören facepalmed and started smacking himself in the forehead. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Idiot. She hates me now..."  
  
Sören was in a foul mood on the way back home, and thought about canceling his date with Mark. But then when he cried on his bed he drifted off to sleep, and when he woke up it was close to the time Mark would be picking him up.  
  
Sören brought Snúður over to Mark's house in the cat carrier - Mark had bought some cat supplies for his own house when Sören came to visit. Sören was quiet on the way to Mark's house and Mark kept looking at him. When they turning onto Mark's street, Mark finally asked, "Babe, what's wrong?"  
  
Sören sighed. "I gave the painting to Karen."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"She doesn't like it."  
  
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Did she say she doesn't like it, or..."  
  
Sören bristled. "She didn't say it in as many words but her reaction was really weird. She had a strange look on her face and she got, well, teary and then she ran off."  
  
"That doesn't mean she doesn't like it. Sometimes when people are genuinely touched by things, really nice things, they don't know how to handle it, they may not deal with emotions well... it's been my experience that the British have that whole 'stiff upper lip' thing going on..."  
  
"You mean like Nico?" Sören snorted.  
  
"Yes, exactly like that."  
  
Sören shrugged, then. "I don't know, Mark. It just... feels bad."  
  
"Well, I think it's more fair to her, and yourself, to try to not assume that reaction was negative."  
  
Sören shrugged again.  
  
Mark pulled into the driveway and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sören... I wish you wouldn't be so negative about yourself, and your art in particular. I know you have a lot of conditioning from abusers to unlearn, and that recovery process isn't overnight. I know that. But I wish you would value yourself more. It literally hurts to see you like this."  
  
 _It'll hurt even more if I tell you who I was. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Kanafinwë. Things will never be as they were. Will you still want that, or will it hurt too much? Will it repel you?_  
  
Sören knew he still had to tell Mark, eventually. And for a second he thought about telling him now, while they were still in the car in the driveway, just blurting it out, _"Hey, I think I was Fëanor."_  
  
But now the cat was yowling, not liking to be cooped up in the carrier. So they went inside, Sören let out Snúður, and Mark set to work on dinner, with an awkward silence between them.  
  
Sören was once again feeling overwhelmed by the escalating spookiness of everything and he desperately needed a break. He found himself wandering over to the shelf where Mark's KISS action figures were once again reassembled as they were before Sören put them on the coffee table. Sören gathered the members of KISS into his T-shirt and made his way down the hall to Mark's bedroom.  
  
Over the summer, one of Sören and Mark's trips had been to Build-A-Bear Workshop to get Sören a companion for the stuffed toy he'd had since childhood, a blue bunny named Bláberja that Sören's mamma had made him, and Sören's uncle Einar had ripped apart one night in a fit. Sören kept the pieces together in a pillowcase, not knowing how to sew, and when Mark saw Bláberja he secretly rented a sewing machine and repaired the bunny as a surprise for Sören. To celebrate, Sören got a second bunny, and on impulse, got a unicorn for Mark. Sören had pushed Mark to name his new friend, and when Mark yelled "Hells" in exasperation, Sören decided that was its name.  
  
Mark still had Hells, who was sitting on one of the William-and-Mary dressers, near an interesting-looking black crystal ball that, when Sören saw it out of the corner of his eye, looked for a moment like nebulas were swirling under the glass. Sören wondered about it, if this was one of the palantiri that he'd invented a long time ago. But he'd had more than enough spooky things as of late. So instead, he simply unwrapped the KISS action figures from his shirt and assembled them around Hells. He put Gene Simmons and Ace Frehley on the unicorn's back, as if they were riding him, and the other members of KISS were looking at the palantir as if they were consulting it to see where Hells should take them.  
  
After dinner Sören and Mark curled up together to watch _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , with Sören relieved that despite the awkward silence of earlier, Mark was still warm and affectionate. He relaxed into Mark's cuddles and pettings, and inevitably, the relaxation at his touch gave way to arousal, with sweet, lazy kisses becoming more heated.  
  
Mark got up to go to the bathroom and when Mark was down the hall Sören took his cock out and began to stroke, slow and languid, the plan being for Mark to see him that way when he came back to the living room. But then a couple minutes after he heard the toilet flush and the water running in the sink, he heard a distinct "HELLS" from the direction of the bedroom. Sören couldn't wipe the grin off his face when Mark stepped into the living room, arms folded.  
  
Mark simply made a gesture for Sören to get up and follow him.  
  
As soon as Sören got in the bedroom, Mark yanked Sören's khakis off, shoved him down on the bed, and began to spank his ass over and over again. Sören giggled, moaned, rubbed against the bed like he was in heat, wiggling his ass at Mark provocatively.  
  
"Brat," Mark growled.  
  
"I told you those poor KISS dolls needed a break. It's not my fault that your KISS dolls are trying to plan an escape now. You should have listened to me."  
  
Mark swatted Sören's ass again. Sören moaned, cock throbbing.  
  
"You know," Mark rasped, "that accent of yours is maddeningly adorable and sexy. I can't even be too annoyed with you when you say _'hyoorrrr kees dulls'_ the way you do." Mark gave a little groan as he spanked Sören again. "Between your naughty innocence... those curls, those eyes, that mouth, your body... and that gorgeous voice... it's almost like you were deliberately fashioned to be irresistible, you tempting little..." Mark spanked Sören again.  
  
The first reaction in Sören's mind was _I'm not sure you'd still say this if you knew the truth of what I once was, compared to what I am now._ But then a small part of him wondered if, just as there was enough of the Flame in him to defy the Doom and find Maglor again, Fëanor might have somehow shaped the body he would be reborn into, something new but also that would still be aesthetically pleasing to him and his lovers...  
  
It was a nice thought, comforting. Sören hoped it was true. In the meantime, his cock jolted and throbbed urgently with each slap, his hole twitching, aching to be filled, rubbed.  
  
Mark rolled Sören onto his back, yanked off Sören's T-shirt, and then he grabbed the leash and collar and put it on Sören. Mark tied the leash to the bedpost as he got undressed, again going slowly and deliberately, putting on a little show for Sören, who got more worked up watching him, cock leaking precum.  
  
When Mark was naked he joined Sören on the bed and untied the leash, wrapping it around his hand, pulling Sören towards him. "I'm starting to think that you're playing with my action figures on purpose to get punished."  
  
Sören grinned. "Hi Starting To Think That You're Playing With My -"  
  
Mark bit Sören's neck. Sören cried out, cock jolting again. He reached out to grab Mark with a shuddery gasp. Mark licked where he bit, and Sören gave a whimper. Then Mark gave Sören a look, and Sören giggled before he answered. "It's for amusement. It's just that punishment is an added bonus."  
  
"Mhm." Mark kissed Sören hard. "You like being a brat too much, methinks."  
  
"I think you like it too." Sören kissed the tip of Mark's nose. "And in any case you need it. You've been too sad, too serious, for too long." Sören stroked Mark's face, pet his hair. "I like making you laugh." I always did.  
  
Mark's eyes went from fierce to tender, and then back to fierce as he took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him passionately. They both cried out into the kiss as their hard cocks bumped up together. They moaned as cock rubbed cock with each teasing lash of their tongues. Mark reached for the lube and Sören spread his legs as wide as he could. Mark readied them both and then, leash in hand, pulling, he pushed into Sören and gave him another deep, devouring kiss when he was all the way inside.  
  
With Sören's legs on Mark's shoulders, Mark leaning over him, kissing him with fierce hunger, Mark drove into him, showing no mercy. Sören loved it, arms wrapped around him, nails digging into him, hips rocking back at him. He loved not just the sensation of Mark rubbing that sweet spot inside him but that feeling of possession, being consumed, consuming him as well, fire meeting fire.  
  
"Mine," Mark growled, biting Sören's neck, kissing, licking. "Mine. _Mine._ "  
  
"Yours."  
  
Their climax detonated through them violently, making them cry out to the heavens. And still they needed more. Never enough. Sören rolled Mark onto his back and rode him like a bull, Mark tugging the leash, his free hands playing with Sören's piercings, tracing the ink on his skin. After that orgasm they were sweaty enough to shower together, rubbing their cocks together in the shower, Mark teasing them shy of orgasm so they were still hard and unfulfilled when the shower ended. Mark led them back to the bed for a sweet sixty-nine, and then, kissing, tasting each other's seed aroused them enough to still need more. Mark wanted to top from the bottom, letting Sören take him on all fours, with Sören pulling his flood of hair as Mark had pulled the leash.  
  
"I'm yours," Sören rasped as he slammed into Mark, "but you're mine, too."  
  
"God, yes." Mark quivered and let out a husky moan.  
  
"Mine." Sören grabbed Mark's hips harder, fucking faster. "Mine. My own. All of you is mine. Your ass. Your cock. Your mouth. Your eyes. Your music. Your Song." Sören couldn't resist. "Your KISS dolls."  
  
"Hells, Sören..."  
  
Sören leaned down, and pulled Mark up a little, tilting Mark's face so they could kiss. "You belong to me. You don't have to wander alone anymore, Macalaurë."  
  
Mark gave a shuddery sigh, and Sören knew he was overcome with emotion, the same feeling that was overwhelming Sören now, breaking his heart, flooding his eyes. He loved this man so much, with a fierce, scorching love that was more powerful than the Doom upon them. More powerful than anything.  
  
"No more wandering alone," Sören repeated, and for levity, so he didn't completely fall apart, he grinned and purred, "Your KISS dolls are wandering too."  
  
Mark narrowed his eyes and he growled into a kiss. One kiss became another, and another, and soon Sören couldn't make words at all, so close to climax. He reached to play with Mark's cock, wanting his bottom to come first, and he felt Mark trembling just before the telltale gasp and the seed coating his hand. "Sören," Mark cried out. "Sören. Oh god. Sören. Sören, my love, my flame, my fire..."  
  
"Yes." Sören gave in to his own release, spending and spending and spending. "Oh, fuck, yes."  
  
Sören lay on top of him as he drifted. At some point he slipped out, and then he was in Mark's arms, being rocked and pet.  
  
"We should get some sleep," Mark whispered.  
  
"Kay."  
  
Mark kissed Sören's brow. "Sweet dreams, little flame."  
  
That night, Sören managed to get some actual rest, undisturbed.  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Friday morning Mark dropped Sören off at home so his cat could go home, and Sören went to school with Dooku as usual. Sören was a bit nervous about seeing Karen again after yesterday, but Dooku looked a bit pensive too, and Sören decided to distract himself from his anxiety about Karen by seeing if he could help his best friend feel better at all.  
  
"You OK, Nico?"  
  
"Oh... yes, I suppose." Dooku nodded. "I just find myself increasingly troubled by the news."  
  
"I see."  
  
"As you know, I was rather a bit of a firebrand back in the 1970s and to some extent in the 1980s as well. It's not that I never stopped caring about civil rights, and politics, but as I've gotten older I've... well... not calmed down, necessarily, but I pick and choose my battles more carefully. I wasn't as concerned about getting arrested when I was in my twenties, as I am now."  
  
"That's understandable." Sören nodded.  
  
"But lately... since the 2016 election..." Dooku's brow furrowed. "It's... alarming, what's happening here."  
  
Sören nodded some more.  
  
"And I'm finding it harder to stay silent." Dooku finally looked at Sören. "I'm going to Portland on Saturday, I'm staying in the city overnight at a hotel. There are some leftist, anti-fascist demonstrations coming up soon that I'm taking part in - my generation owes the younger generation, we created this mess they're in - and on Saturday I'm going to a meeting to start planning for the weekends ahead. I apologize if you wanted to get together then..."  
  
"No, I understand." Sören felt a tight ache in his chest - respect and admiration for his friend, willing to fight for what he believed in.  
  
"For all our talk of wanting a revolution in the 1960s, the 1970s..." Dooku shook his head and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Most of us sold out. We compromised our ideals too much... we didn't fight hard enough. And now here we are, with America looking a lot like how Germany looked just prior to World War II. We did this. I shan't be complacent. I'm an historian, I know history repeats itself unchecked."  
  
For a brief instant Sören thought of Fëanor and Fingolfin trying to start their own revolution against Melkor and the Valar, and how well that worked out for both of them. He suddenly had an icy grip on the pit of his stomach, knowing that the far-right were more active in Portland lately - _orcs,_ the Fëanor part of Sören sneered - and he worried about Dooku getting in trouble, getting hurt, even though Sören knew from what happened with Seth that Dooku was very capable of taking care of himself.  
  
He almost wanted to say, "Don't go," but he knew that he couldn't ask Dooku to not be himself, that Dooku's ideals were what made Dooku Dooku, the man who'd come to his defense and helped him through one of the worst times in his life when Sören had been decidedly unlikable, acting from a place of deep hurt. Dooku had seen the humanity there, and responded with compassion. Ferocity too - he had been a terror to Seth, almost killing him. Sören could see the fire in Dooku's dark eyes - he was angry about what was happening to the world now, he was on a crusade. Sören honored that part of him, cherished it. He hoped it wouldn't cause Dooku problems. _I can't lose you._  
  
That thought terrified him, not just the thought of losing Dooku in and of itself, but the realization that he'd be absolutely devastated, desolate, if something happened to Dooku. It was a feeling very close to...  
  
 _Oh god, I'm in love with him. I can't keep denying it._ But nor was he willing to risk everything by saying it aloud.  
  
"I hope the demonstrations go well." Sören swallowed hard. "I'd offer to come with you, but -"  
  
"I'd tell you to stay home if you did." Dooku gave him a stern look. "The fascist groups in Portland... well... I won't say for sure that things will get physical, they won't necessarily, but it's better to be prepared just in case, and as you know, I've taken Krav Maga, I'm in good condition for my age. You have asthma. You're not used to fighting, though I think something like taking up a martial art might be good for building self-esteem -"  
  
 _Oh here we go again with this shit._ "You think I have low self-esteem?"  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson, I _know_ you have low self-esteem and it pains me. You are..." Dooku took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then he swallowed hard and said, "Very dear to me. There is much of value about you, and it bothers me that you don't see it. That you don't see the way..." His voice trailed off.  
  
Sören shrugged. "I've had people tell me I'm crap my whole life."  
  
"Yes. My parents told me something similar. And like you, I was bullied in school. Private schools in England in the 1960s were a special kind of hell. But here we are." Dooku set his jaw, defiant. "We have both accomplished more, done more for this world, than anyone who has spoken ill of us. Even if we had not, we are still worth more than they say we are, because nobody deserves what was inflicted upon us." Dooku's nostrils flared. "Except perhaps that ex of yours."  
  
"God." Sören fought off the wild urge to kiss Dooku on the cheek. _You want to do WHAT? Have you lost your damn mind?_ Sören's face was on fire.  
  
Sören felt the anxiety return when they got to campus. After he'd been in his classroom for a little while, setting up, Karen walked in, wearing a light blue blouse with a darker blue skirt, a blue-and-white scarf, her hair worn loose.  
  
"Hi," Karen said.  
  
"Hi." Sören looked away.  
  
"Um..." Karen came closer. "Sören... I wanted to say thank you, again, for the painting."  
  
"No need to thank me," Sören said, looking down, feeling a little ill. "I can tell you didn't like it."  
  
"Oh god. Oh god Sören _no_... that wasn't it." Karen reached out to grab his arm then, and Sören found himself looking back over at Karen, whose eyes were too bright.  
  
Sören and Karen sat down. "I loved it," Karen said. "It got me choked up because... well... it hit very close to home for me. First of all, you couldn't possibly have known this, but the swan is my favorite bird."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. For a second he half-expected Karen to say she'd been dreaming about the Harry Potter world, and then he had the wild thought of wondering if that world from his dream did exist and they somehow knew each other there, perhaps through that gorgeous Englishman he was with...

Karen went on. "For years I always thought the swan would be my Patronus."

"Oh. That's funny because, you know, your surname is Swanson, I just... thought it fit."

"Perhaps, but not everyone would connect their Patronus with their surname. I would have more reason to avoid it than most people." Karen made a face. When she saw Sören's look of confusion, she explained, "Karen is my middle name. My given name is Bella, I was named for my maternal grandmother Isabella and my paternal great-grandmother Karen. Anyway... I was in law school in 2005, the year the first Twilight book came out, and this guy Anthony in my class started calling me Bella Swan."

Sören tried not to laugh.

"I used to go by Bella but after that I started going by Karen. Anyway, I still love swans. And... the author said the Dementors were based on her struggles with depression," Karen said.  
  
"Oh." Sören blinked. He hadn't been expecting that, even though he'd seen Karen looking sad more than once.  
  
"The last few years have been rather difficult for me," Karen went on. "So seeing a painting of myself battling something from a world where the creator said it was symbolic of depression and other mental health issues..."  
  
"Oh god, Karen, I'm sorry, I -"  
  
"Why are you apologizing?" Karen gave him a stern look. "There's no need to apologize, Sören. It was like... looking at that... you got it."  
  
"I think I do." Sören nodded. "I've been through some shit, and I'm on medication for stuff I'm diagnosed with."  
  
Karen nodded too. "You have that feel about you. People who've endured trauma of some kind can usually sense it in other people."  
  
"You'd think that, but I genuinely didn't know that was why you were reacting to the painting like that. I thought you didn't like it." Sören frowned.  
  
"Oh, Sören." Karen's voice was husky. She put her hand on Sören's arm like he was a dear friend instead of just the professor she was the teaching assistant of. "It wasn't just that the symbolism of it touched me, but... nobody's ever given me a gift like that before, I could tell from just a brief glance at the painting that so much work went into it, hours, all the detail. It felt so lifelike. It was, is, an absolutely gorgeous piece of art. I got a frame for it and hung it up in my flat. It's a reminder to keep fighting." Karen's eyes misted again. "It was incredibly sweet of you, and such a surprise. I didn't know if you could tell I'd been struggling a bit more this week than usual..."  
  
"You're pretty professional," Sören said, and thought to himself _and just pretty, period_ , but didn't say it out loud. "So I couldn't tell consciously. Subconsciously... well..." Sören gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Maybe I'm kind of psychic." He hummed the theme to The X-Files. Karen laughed too. Sören fought back a cringe, thinking of all the weirdness of his life and how that joke wasn't entirely a joke. The urgency he'd felt with giving the painting to Karen yesterday, well...  
  
"Yesterday was the one-year anniversary of something very difficult." Karen looked down. "So getting that painting then, of all days..."  
  
"Oh. _Oh_."  
  
"And I assume it was a coincidence, you probably don't follow British news sources at all..."  
  
"Uh... no? I mean, I could probably tell you if something's going on with your royal family, but otherwise..." Sören felt a little self-conscious that he wasn't as well-versed in global affairs as Dooku was. He barely knew what was happening in Iceland since he left.  
  
"Mkay." Karen nodded.  
  
"Did you, ah... did you want to talk about it?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it right now, when our first class starts soon. It's a bit of a fraught topic of conversation for me. I do want to tell you about it, because I think you'll understand, a sympathetic ear would be nice to have, a friend..."  
  
"Of course." Sören gave her a reassuring smile.  
  
"But I need a few days to... work up to talking about it."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Sören felt a bit better now, though now his troubles were no longer that Karen didn't like the painting, but that someone he was coming to care about was in pain. He felt for Karen, wishing there was something he could do to make her happy.  
  
It was a sunny day, which was getting rarer as fall wore on in the Pacific Northwest, and the leaves were even more glorious as October wound down, so Sören suggested Karen take a walk with him on their break. As they walked around campus, admiring the foliage and the way the red, gold, orange contrasted with the evergreens, and that smoky smell of fall leaves on the ground mixed with pines and firs, Sören remembered that the day he'd been in Karen's car he bought bubble solution which he'd put in his satchel and promptly forgotten about. He took it out now and on a whim, an attempt to make Karen smile, he opened the bubble solution, dipped the wand in the bubbles, and blew.  
  
Karen laughed. "Oh my god."  
  
Sören blew bubbles in her direction. Karen began to pop them, but let the last one dance on her finger till it burst on its own.  
  
Sören blew more bubbles, and then, to make them bigger, he simply waved his wand around. Then he yelled out, "Expecto Patronum" as a particularly big bubble came out of the wand. Karen threw her head back and laughed, a genuine laugh where her face lit up, beautiful.  
  
"You're such a big kid, Sören," Karen said.  
  
"Here." Sören handed the bubbles to Karen.  
  
Karen blew some bubbles and Sören chased them, trying to catch them. She giggled as one popped on Sören's nose. She blew another round of bubbles and she asked, "So Sören, you guessed accurately that my Patronus is a swan... what's yours?"  
  
"Phoenix," Sören said without hesitation, remembering the dream where he'd conjured a phoenix Patronus, to dance with his British lover's falcon Patronus... just like the ink on his back. He wondered, feeling crazy, if the man was one of Fëanor's brothers, reborn, and if he was here in this world somewhere. _That's ridiculous._ But that dream had been so real.  
  
"That makes sense," Karen said, nodding, and blew more bubbles.  
  
"I have it on my back," Sören said. "I designed it."  
  
"Oh, wow." Karen blew more bubbles and handed the bubble bottle back to Sören. As Sören dipped the wand again and blew more bubbles at her, she asked, "Did it hurt?" She facepalmed. "Er. That's a dumb question. Of course needles in your skin hurt..."  
  
"Some hurt worse than others," Sören said. "It wasn't as bad as you might think, but I have a higher pain tolerance than most people." I have Einar to thank for that, he thought to himself bitterly, remembering lashes with a belt that broke his skin and left scars the tattoos covered. "I've got, ah, piercings, too. Under my clothes." _And a buttplug._ "Oh god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that, that's too personal -"  
  
Karen turned pink but she laughed and said, "No, Sören, it's OK. Actually I think that's, ah." Her blush deepened and she looked away, biting her lower lip. She looked back at Sören and crinkled her nose a little, still biting her lower lip. Sören felt his cock wake up a little. "That's pretty cool. I don't think I've personally met anyone with, well." She gestured to him. "I mean, I've been to Portland, I've walked past plenty of people with obvious ink and piercings, what I mean is directly interacting -"  
  
"Já, I knew what you meant." Sören's face was on fire again, his stomach fluttering. _God, she is so damn cute._ "I'm sorry, really, I... ah... that wasn't professional."  
  
"Sören, I said it was all right." Karen gave him a stern look. "I'd be reporting your arse right now if it wasn't, trust me."  
  
"OK, good." Sören nodded. "Or just, you know, punch me if I'm an arse. I have no brain to mouth filter sometimes and I don't want you to feel unsafe -"  
  
Their eyes met. Karen took the bubble bottle and blew bubbles at him. "I don't," she husked.  
  
Their eyes held, and Sören wanted to say more, but he didn't know what else to say, feeling flustered.  
  
He kept looking at Karen when they got back to class, though he tried not to, wanting to keep things professional, wanting to keep her on that side of feeling safe around him. But by the time classes let out for the day he was feeling randy, made worse by going home with Dooku, who was talking more about that trip to Portland tomorrow and his ideals and values and Sören found that ridiculously attractive about him.  
  
He needed to unleash. Mark was coming over soon to pick up him and the cat, but he was thinking about Karen, finding himself hard. He ended up calling Sharon.  
  
"You want to get together tomorrow?" he asked. "Spend the night, maybe?"  
  
"I'd love that," Sharon said.  
  
Sören felt bold. "You want to come here, mi casa?" He gave a self-deprecating chuckle at his attempt at Spanish. "I've got a new cat and I don't want to leave him alone -"  
  
"OH MY GOD KITTY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA."  
  
Sören laughed, and Sharon laughed too. He found that reaction adorable, and enough like his own to relax a little. "Yes, come pet my kitty! And I'll, ah... pet your kitty."  
  
Sharon made a purring noise into the phone.


	11. Feel It

Before Dooku left for Portland on Saturday he dropped off his elderly cat Beowulf for Sören to catsit, with a promise to return by no later than 4 PM on Sunday to pick the cat up. Sören didn't tell Dooku about his plans with Sharon, since Dooku was a bit rushed on his way out, though Dooku did get some pettings of both Beowulf and Snúður in before he left, and Dooku also gave Sören the contact info of his vet just in case, but also gave the vet a glowing recommendation for Sören's own cat.  
  
 _You better not be dating that vet_ , Sören thought as Dooku left, and he once again felt angry at himself for having such a weirdly possessive reaction. Yes, he loved Dooku, but they were just friends. Sören didn't want to make things weird by telling him. Even so, he ached.  
  
Sören found himself feeling a little randy again after he saw Dooku out to his Jaguar, impatient for Sharon to get here. However, they weren't going to be getting "down to business" right away - they'd made plans that morning to go hiking through the woods off US Route 26 since it was going to be a sunny day and it was peak fall foliage time. After that hike, they were going to grab a bite to eat somewhere. Sören was horny for Sharon, but he genuinely liked her company too and didn't want to just spend the entire time in bed, or at least not this visit, anyway.  
  
Sören also had additional reason for wanting to go out, grinning over at a backpack he had waiting by the door. Sharon and Beowulf weren't the only guests Sören had that weekend.  
  
When Sharon arrived a little after 1 PM, Sören grabbed the duffel bag, pet the cats on his way out - Beowulf was old and mellow enough that he seemed to get along with Snúður, or at least they could be in the same space without killing each other - and ran out to Sharon's RV, regretting his exuberance when he had an asthma attack.  
  
Sharon had Nine Inch Nails playing in the van, which didn't help Sören to feel less horny. He gave her a big hug and a kiss, and affectionately tweaked a dreadlock. "You look cute," he said.  
  
"Oh please, I'm not dressed to impress or anything." Sharon had her blonde dreadlocks in a ponytail and was wearing a green plaid flannel shirt and faded jeans, an outfit that proved she was making herself at home in the Pacific Northwest.  
  
"You're cute, and that's that. And we sort of match." Sören was wearing a red plaid flannel shirt over the KMFDM shirt he'd met Sharon in, and darker blue jeans. He gave his glasses a wipe before putting them back on, smiling at her.  
  
"Well, you're cute." Sharon booped his nose. "OK, I've got GPS on but when we get to wherever we're going you have to tell me where to turn off, right?"  
  
"Right." Sören nodded. "I've been here a bunch of times though, I'll remember." He made a face. "Amazingly, one of the things I can remember."  
  
As they rolled out, Sharon nodded over at the backpack. "What's in the bag?"  
  
"Severed heads."  
  
Sharon almost spat her iced latte. "Sören, I swear to god."  
  
"It's some stuff. It'll be easier if I explain it when it's time for me to get it out. But in the meantime..." Sören unzipped one of the backpack compartments and took out the bag of gourmet jellybeans that he'd bought earlier in the month with Karen, that he hadn't finished yet.  
  
Sharon's eyes widened. She took a few jellybeans and ate them. "Oh my god, jellybeans," she said through a mouthful, but it came out "ermagerd, jellerberns."  
  
Sören laughed. "Yes, jellerberns."  
  
Sharon gave him a little swat and took some more. "I haven't had jellybeans in forever and these are so good. Where did you get them?"  
  
"There's a candy shop in town. When we get back from hiking, if you want to go, I'll take you to the candy shop." Sören couldn't resist and started singing, " _I'll let you lick the lollipop, go 'head girl don't you stop, keep going till you hit the spot, whoa..._ "  
  
Sharon threw her head back and howled, then she sang back to him, " _I'll take you to the candy shop, boy, one taste of what I got, I'll have you spending all you got, keep going till you hit the spot..._ "  
  
Sören's face was on fire, his mind racing with thoughts of eating Sharon out. He stole a sip of her iced coffee and then Sharon said, "You're incorrigible."  
  
" _Takk._ " Sören grinned. "But there is an actual candy shop where you can get actual candy."  
  
"Excellent, I'd like to pick some up for myself, and for my roommate Frankie, since she puts up with me." Sharon grinned too. "But then I hope we go to, you know, the metaphorical candy shop."  
  
"I think I've got some metaphorical candy," Sören said.  
  
"Metaphorical Candy is my Fall Out Boy cover band."  
  
Sören wheezed, loving it. He gave Sharon a big kiss on the cheek for that, wanting to grab her and snog her properly, but they were on the road so a cheek-kiss would have to do for now. Sharon tweaked his nose and kissed his cheek in return, grinning. _God, she's beautiful,_ Sören thought to himself, feeling a flutter at her dimples, her bright blue eyes. He was tempted to tell Sharon to pull over and take her in the camper part of the van and eat her out then, but he behaved himself... for now.  
  
They nibbled jellybeans on the way to the forest. When Sören saw the correct turn coming up he let Sharon know, and Sharon turned off the highway down a winding road through the woods, gravel and leaves crunching under the tires. Even in the space of the forest closer to the highway, Sharon's breath caught at the evergreens mixed with the blazing deciduous trees and so many of them.  
  
"That's one thing I can't get over about up here compared to the Bay Area," Sharon said in a hushed, reverent tone of voice. "I mean sure, we've got Muir Woods and all that but it's also so... urban, most places. Out here there's so much more green."  
  
"It's why I stay here," Sören said, nodding. "The forest, the mountains, the ocean within a reasonable drive..." Sören felt a tight ache in his chest, knowing eventually he'd have to leave this place if he stayed with Mark, but he was hoping that when that time came, at least for awhile Mark might consider settling elsewhere in the Pacific Northwest, like Washington State or British Columbia.  
  
Speaking of Mark... Sören's cell phone went off with a text notification ringtone, as if thinking about Mark had summoned him. Sören took out his cell phone and sure enough...  
  
 _Sören, where is Hells?_ A few seconds later: _And where are my action figures?_  
  
Sören giggled. He wasn't going to reply to that just yet.  
  
"What's so funny?" Sharon asked.  
  
"You'll see."  
  
Sharon gave Sören a suspicious look.  
  
They got to a place where Sören had Sharon pull over. They hopped out of the RV, Sören taking the backpack with him, and Sören led her ahead on a trail through the forest. They walked in sllence down the trail, taking it all in. Sören kept glancing over at Sharon, the look of awe on her face. He started taking photos early, and got a couple of her as well, wanting to preserve this moment - even dressed down as she was, Sören thought Sharon was absolutely gorgeous, and her wonder in the beauty of the autumn forest especially so.  
  
The reason why Sören wanted to come here wasn't just because of the glorious cover of trees along the trail, the fallen leaves that crunched underfoot, the smoky smell of autumn mingling with the crisp scent of evergreen, but because there was an end to the trail - a cliff with an absolutely glorious view of surrounding mountains and other forests on those mountains. "Oh my god," Sharon breathed as she got there and saw it. "I can see forever."  
  
Sören laughed, and gave her a squeeze.  
  
A squeeze became a kiss, deep and sensual. When they pulled apart, breathing harder, Sören looked into those eyes, as blue as the endless sky above, and he held back saying the words that rose in him: _I love you._ But he felt it, just the same.  
  
They sat on the ground together, taking a break for water and to continue looking at the view. The water came from Sören's backpack, and now it was time for Sharon to see what else was in there.  
  
Sharon raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm trolling my boyfriend," Sören explained as he arranged Hells and the KISS action figures on a large stone near the cliff's edge, so he could get a photo of the view. "I started teasing him about his KISS dolls performing slave labor and he got all indignant and it was so cute, so now..."  
  
"So what, you broke out his KISS dolls? They've escaped?" Sharon looked at the way Sören was arranging them and howled. "They're riding a unicorn?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Well, two of them are." Ace Frehley and Gene Simmons were on the back of Hells again, and Paul Stanley looked like he was dismounting and scouting. Sören made Peter Criss stand near them and point in the distance as if he spotted something.  
  
Sören snapped a couple photos of the arrangement, and the one he was most satisfied with, he sent in an attachment back to Mark, saying simply: _No context required._  
  
Mark shot back a reply text almost immediately. _You better return them unharmed._  
  
Sören texted back: _They'll return if and when they see fit, and certainly no more harm than however long they've been doing slave labor nonstop._ Sören added a smiley emoji and a heart to the message before sending it.  
  
Sören giggled, and Sharon laughed too, shaking her head. "You're so bad," she said.  
  
"I know."  
  
"But you're also so good for taking me here." She gestured to the view in front of them, the forest around them. "This is such a little gem. And you don't drive, right?"  
  
"I used to drive," Sören said. "My best friend, Nico, started driving me up here months ago. At night, you can see the entire fucking Milky Way without light pollution, that's how much we're in the middle of nowhere out here. I was actually going to suggest we come up here at night, but I didn't want you to feel, you know, unsafe..."  
  
"Awwwww." Sharon hugged Sören and gave him a little kiss. "You're a precious bean. I'd never feel unsafe around you."  
  
Sören kissed her back. "OK, but you know, I didn't know that."  
  
"You're a gentleman."  
  
"I'm not so sure about that." Sören snorted. "But I guess I tend to err on the side of caution because..." His voice trailed off. "Well, anyway. Nico took me up here at night, and this place is gorgeous in the daytime in spring, too, we'll have to go in the springtime. There's such a peace here, a peace that Nico knew I needed after." There it was again.  
  
Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Sören, what happened to you?" she said quietly.  
  
"Shit." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "I don't want to spoil our afternoon..."  
  
"Sören, you're..." Sharon shrugged. "Not quite my boyfriend, but we're intimate, close, all the same. So out with it. You can tell me. I won't judge you."  
  
Sören told Sharon as little as he could get away with about Seth, including the fact that Seth had raped him repeatedly. Including the ordeal of Seth putting him in a car accident, which had tipped him over the edge to leave. "I had a rib fracture and a dislocated shoulder. Nico had me stay with him for a few weeks because, you know, I couldn't take care of myself with all that. He fed me. He helped me get changed. And honestly, I needed to stay there anyway - he made me feel safe again, for the first time in months." Sören swallowed hard, eyes burning, thinking of how kind he'd been, understanding, compassionate. "And not just because he was nice to me but he... ah." Sören gestured around the forest. "Somehow, he got Seth in his car, drove him up here one night, and beat the shit out of him. Seth left town."  
  
"Nice." Sharon clapped appreciatively. "I've never met Nico, but he sounds like a great guy." Sharon gave him a pointed look. "He must really care about you."  
  
"He's like the big brother I never had," Sören said. "Well, I mean, he's old enough to be my dad, technically, but... we're that close. Like brothers."  
  
"Mhm," Sharon said, giving Sören a look of disbelief.  
  
"What?" Sören blinked slowly.  
  
"Like brothers, eh? Like the Sam and Dean Supernatural slash kind, or..."  
  
Sören facepalmed, his cheeks burning. "Oh my god, Sharon."  
  
"Hey, listen. It just seemed like the way you mention him, that wistful look in your eye..."  
  
"Nico and I aren't a thing, Sharon." Sören wanted to crawl in a hole in the ground and die. He felt like all of him was on fire now. "That ship sailed months ago."  
  
"It sounds like you're still carrying a torch for him and it's about to burn that ship."  
  
Sören blinked. _Oh, if only you knew about me and burning ships..._ Sören sighed then, forcing his mind away from the madness and regret of the past, to the madness and regret of the present. "I don't even think he's gay. I mean, he just sees me as his idiot brother, I think, who he looks out for." Sören shrugged.  
  
 _And where have we seen that before,_ a little voice nagged at the back of Sören's head.  
  
Sören shoved that train of thought away as quickly as it came on. _Yeah right. Wishful thinking much?_  
  
"I'm just saying, him dragging your asshole ex out here and beating the shit out of him for hurting you sounds like something a lover would do," Sharon said. "I could tell Mark had the hots for you back when we were in Sausalito and you seemed really oblivious to that..."  
  
"Jæja, so um... you want to head back?" Sören got up without waiting for a response.  
  
"OK," Sharon said. She glanced over at the stone where Sören had arranged Hells and the KISS action figures and said, "Don't forget your friends, there."  
  
After Sören packed them up, he and Sharon went back down the trail, hand-in-hand. "I'm sorry if I hit a nerve," Sharon said after a few minutes of awkward silence.  
  
"Hi Sorry If I Hit A Nerve."  
  
Sharon gave him a look, elbowed him, tweaked his nose, and then she said, "I want to see you happy."  
  
"I don't... want to talk about... you know. That subject. Anymore," Sören said, face on fire again. "No offense."  
  
"None taken. I know what it's like to want something you think you can't have."  
  
Sören looked at Sharon, who looked back at him. Sören froze for a moment, hoping this wasn't Sharon wanting more than what he could give her. And then Sharon patted and said, "Oh no, not you. I like what we have. No more, no less."  
  
"Good." Sören gave her a little kiss, relieved.  
  
"I have a crush on my roommate, Sören."  
  
"Ah." Sören nodded. "So you're hoping candy is the way to her heart?"  
  
"I'd buy her candy anyway to be nice. But." Sharon shrugged. "It makes living with her kind of awkward now. We were doing so well as friends! And then she had to be so goddamn adorable. And, well..." Sharon's voice trailed off. "Never mind."  
  
"Never mind what?"  
  
"I think you need to meet her. I've told her about you and she's really interested in meeting you. Not this weekend but sometime soon-ish, hopefully. You're better off just seeing for yourself."  
  
"What, does she have, like, four arms?"  
  
Sharon laughed. "No, Sören, she does not have four arms. Four eyes, like you, maybe."  
  
Sören stuck his tongue out at her, then he said, "All the better to ogle you with, my dear."  
  
"Mhm." Sharon kissed him again, and grabbed his ass.  
  
As soon as they got in the RV they shared a passionate, hungry kiss that led them to the camper part of the RV, giggling all the way. Sören took off Sharon's jeans and panties and went to work - she was already wet for him, which Sören loved, and he devoured her, licking and sucking her clit until she climaxed, gushing on his face with a cry. He sipped her flowing juices, savoring, and then he kissed her to share the taste with her.  
  
"That's one," Sören said, grinning. "More later." His finger teasingly brushed a nipple through her flannel shirt.  
  
Sharon and Sören went to the front of the RV again and she turned the van around and got back on US Route 26. A computerized GPS voice guided them back to Corvallis, and Sharon got directions to the plaza where the candy shop was located.  
  
In the candy shop, Sharon's face lit up like a big kid. She and Sören spent quite awhile browsing, oohing and ahhing at the seemingly endless selection of sweets. On a whim, Sören unloaded the backpack again and took pictures of Hells and the KISS action figures inspecting different varieties of gummies, and one where Gene Simmons wrapped a rainbow gummy worm around his neck like it was a snake or a feather boa.  
  
"Hey, you have to buy that," the clerk shouted.  
  
Sören bought a small bag of rainbow sweet-and-sour gummy worms, which he was planning on doing anyway when he spotted them. Sharon got chocolate-covered pretzels and chocolate-covered coffee beans and chocolate-covered almonds.  
  
"Wow, you must really like this girl," Sören teased.  
  
"Well, some of them are for me. And we can share too." Sharon gave him a kiss. Then she cackled, "Maybe we can share her, if it works out."  
  
Sören kissed her back with a little groan and a frisson down his spine. The thought of being in a threesome with lesbian sex involved... now there was a return to the devil-may-care days of Toronto, before he was roofied. He didn't want to go back to his days of clubbing and anonymous sex, he'd outgrown that, but a little walk on the wild side, he could go for.  
  
The clerk gave them a disapproving look, as if the implication they were in some bisexual open relationship was offensive, and Sören decided to move Hells's head like a ventriloquist dummy and say, "It's 2017, man." Then the unicorn muttered, "Silly humans."  
  
Sharon snorted. "And what does the unicorn get up to? Do I want to know?" She glanced at the KISS action figures. "Er."  
  
Sören facepalmed and howled, shaking with laughter. "Er is right." He shoved Hells and the KISS action figures back in his backpack, still giggling at the sheer wrongness, delighted that Sharon was on the same level of wrongness. _God, I love you._  
  
There was a pizza-and-Italian restaurant in the same plaza as the candy shop. Sharon and Sören decided to go there, and were quickly seated. The restaurant had the option to buy pizza by the slice which also meant getting to buy different varieties. Sharon did however get two pieces of four-cheese pizza in addition to pizza with toppings. "I like cheese," she said. She tweaked Sören's nose. "In case that weren't obvious being with you."  
  
Sören booped her nose across the table.  
  
Sören decided to take out Hells and the KISS action figures again, seating them around the coloring paper and crayons that their table had tucked away in case families with kids showed up, and took pictures, making Sharon laugh. Then when their pizza was served, Sharon put the ones with just cheese on them off to the side, since they would be the hottest and need more time to cool, and Sören moved the plate closer to Hells and the KISS action figures, as if they were sharing the pizza. He sent off a couple texts to Mark with the latest pictures from the candy shop and the restaurant.  
  
A few minutes later, as Sören had a mouthful of pizza, Mark sent another text. _Candy and pizza? You complain to me about slave labor but they're not getting proper nutrition?_  
  
Sören almost choked on his pizza. He showed Sharon the latest text and Sharon clapped like a seal, tearing up.  
  
Mark wasn't done. _You can't give them some vegetables? Or meat?_  
  
Sören thought for a few minutes, considering his response, and then it came to him, knowing Mark would get the reference. _Right. If they don't eat their meat, how can they have any pudding?_  
  
Some moments after that, Mark sent back: _Shine on, you crazy diamond._  
  
  
_  
  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA KITTY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SMOL FLOOFS."  
  
Sören beamed.  
  
"You said you got a cat." Sharon raised an eyebrow. "There are two."  
  
"Jæja... that's Beowulf." Sören pointed to the Norwegian Forest Cat sunning himself on the cat condo near the living room window. "That's Nico's cat, I'm catsitting while he's gone for the night. This right here is Snúður." He stooped to pet the tuxedo cat as he came forward. Snúður headbutted him, purring loudly, and rubbed against him as Sören gave pettings. " _Þvílíkt sætt litla elskan. Ó, hvað góður, snaggi litli köttur_..."  
  
Sharon giggled. "I love hearing you speak Icelandic." She got down on her knees to pet the cat too. "What's his name mean?"  
  
"Cinnamon Roll."  
  
Sharon laughed harder. "Goddammit, Sören, why do you have to be so fucking adorable?"  
  
Sören grinned, feeling himself blush fiercely. "I could say the same about you."  
  
Sharon grabbed Sören's hands and helped him up, and they looked at each other for a moment, eyes locked, and then they fell on each other, kissing passionately all the way to Sören's bedroom.  
  
Sören started undressing and Sharon did too, and then she said, "Wait here a minute," and ran off to the living room where she'd left a duffel bag for overnight. She came back with it and put it down on the dresser near the antique mirror, then she resumed undressing.  
  
Once Sharon was completely naked, and smiling at Sören's erection, she said, "I have something for you. Well, two somethings."  
  
"OK," Sören said, wondering what it was.  
  
"The first is a piece of news. I went down to Planned Parenthood. I'm HIV negative and don't have any STDs, and I am also now on birth control."  
  
"Excellent," Sören said.  
  
"I can prove it to you if you want, I can show you the paperwork and my thingie with the Pill -"  
  
"No, I believe you," Sören said.  
  
"All right then. The second is..." Sharon opened up the bag and produced a strap-on dildo, black with a black harness.  
  
Sören's eyes lit up and he laughed and howled appreciatively. "Oh my god."  
  
"You ever been pegged, Sören?"  
  
 _Not in this life._ A flash of memory of Nerdanel having sculpted a phallus, bending Fëanor over and taking him. "No," Sören said, "but I take it, so..." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, his cock jolting. "Wow. Fuck, that's hot."  
  
"I thought you might like that."  
  
Sharon and Sören got on the bed together and just held each other for a moment, looking tenderly into each other's eyes, petting. "What do you want to do first?" Sharon husked.  
  
"I want to eat you some more."  
  
"I won't say no to that."  
  
Sören didn't get down there right away, but lingered, making love to Sharon's entire body, kissing her neck and shoulders, nuzzling and licking her furry armpits, making her moan and giggle, lapping and suckling her nipples, kissing and licking and nibbling her stomach, thighs. At last his tongue brushed her cleft - she was even more drenched than she had been this afternoon - and he began to lick slowly around her clit, not licking directly just yet, teasing her. His cock throbbed at the moans Sharon made.  
  
His cock ached even more when he began to feast on her in earnest, lashing his tongue, sucking her clit hard, tongue dipping inside her to taste her more fully as his fingers rubbed her clit. When he went back to sucking her clit his fingers played in her, and Sharon started to rock against his face, fucking himself on his fingers, her cries louder and louder. Sören was relieved Dooku was in Portland for the evening, not hearing this.  
  
Sören brought Sharon to climax after climax, loving the telltale contractions, the way her juices dripped when she came. He slurped at her noisily, made satisfied "mmmmm" sounds that made Sharon beg for more, grabbing his curls. He lost count after seven orgasms, but finally Sharon needed a break for a little while to recharge and he held her, kissing her. She licked her juices off his face, giggling.  
  
"You have the most amazing tongue," Sharon told him.  
  
"You taste fucking delicious." Sören kissed her deeply.  
  
Sharon moaned into the kiss and started rubbing against him again. Sören was ready to go back down there, but before he could slide down, Sharon grabbed him and husked, "I want you inside me now." She hooked a finger through the Prince Albert piercing in the head of Sören's cock, a captive bead ring. "I want to feel that thing. I've been dying to since I first saw the outline of it in your swim trunks. I mean, I did sort of through the condom, but now..."  
  
"Now we don't need them."  
  
Sharon lay on her back, and looking into her eyes, Sören eased into her slowly. They both moaned at the feel of their bodies joined as one, nothing between them. When Sören was all the way inside they kissed deeply, Sharon reaching out to hold him.  
  
Sören took his first thrust and they both cried out at the sensation. Sören thrust slowly, keeping himself in check, not wanting to come too soon at Sharon's tight, slick heat kissing his cock. With one hand he reached to play with her clit and the fingers of the other stroked her face, played with her locks, whispered over her skin making gooseflesh, teased her nipples. Sharon whimpered and moaned, rolling her hips back at him.  
  
"That bead. In the ring. Oh my god." Sharon's eyelashes fluttered as a shudder went through her. "Sören..." She whined. "Oh. Fuck. _Sören_..."  
  
"Is good, já?"  
  
"Já." Sharon giggled, and Sören did too, kissing the tip of her nose.  
  
They kissed again, tongues searching, dancing. Sharon's hands slid over Sören's back. They kissed again and again, and when Sören began to kiss Sharon's neck, the noises she made were so arousing that Sören sped up a little, not able to help it. That was what Sharon wanted, rocking back at him. "God, Sören, yes, god, that's fucking good..."  
  
Sören took his fingers off her clit for a moment and stuck them in Sharon's mouth. She sucked his fingers with such heat in her eyes, blazing blue, that Sören sped up again. Sharon dug her nails into Sören's back and nibbled on his neck, and Sören groaned, continuing to push and pull, starting to lose himself in the sweetness of her enfolding him. His fingers rubbed her more insistently. Sören needed to slow himself down, not wanting to come before she did.  
  
But at last Sharon urged him on, begging "harder, faster," and Sören gave in to her. When she had a look of surprise on her face and gave a little catch of breath, Sören braced himself, and then he groaned as Sharon screamed, clamping around him, squeezing and squeezing. "Sören. Sören. Oh god. Oh my fucking _god_ , Sören, YES..." She laughed and sobbed as her body shook and she continued squeezing, pulsing around him.  
  
A couple delicious thrusts later and Sören was done, coming inside her with a cry and a shuddery gasp. They moaned together into a kiss, and then nuzzled, pet each other, smiling fondly.  
  
"That was great," Sharon said.  
  
"That was fucking awesome."  
  
They kissed again, and after a few minutes laying there, Sharon's fingers brushed a nipple again and she grinned and asked, "Want to go again?"  
  
Sharon wanted it from behind, getting on her hands and knees, facing the mirror, with Sören getting on his knees behind her.  
  
"I feel like I'm in heat," Sharon said, her voice shaking as Sören just teased her, rubbing the head of his cock against her lower lips, pushing in just the tip but not taking her, not just yet. "There's something so fucking hot and... primal... about just... you in me bare, raw, skin to skin..."  
  
"God, yes." Sören groaned at the sight of his cum leaking out of her.  
  
"No worries, no regrets." Sharon gave a moan as Sören's cock brushed her lower lips again. "No fear of getting pregnant." She grinned into the mirror - Sören grinned too, he loved her smile - and Sharon giggled.  
  
Sören pushed into Sharon who cried out "yes" when he was all the way in, grabbing a fistful of her dreadlocks, and slamming into her, showing no mercy, his free hand reaching around to rub her clit. Sharon fisted the sheets, white-knuckled, and rocked her hips back at Sören as hard as he gave it, whimpering, growling, making inhuman noises. "Yes yes yesyesyes fuck me Sören fuckmefuckmefuckMEEEEEE-"  
  
A few minutes later Sharon came hard, shrieking like a banshee, and Sören came hard too, feeling like the entire universe was exploding out of him as he came inside her. When Sharon rose up, with Sören still in her, his chest to her back, she tilted her face and they took a moment to kiss, and Sören wrapped his arms around her tight, never wanting to let go.  
  
They lay back on the bed and tangled up together, coming down from their climax. Sören was dazed, and not just from the orgasm.  
  
He finally let himself say it. "I love you." His eyes misted.  
  
"I love you too," Sharon husked, petting him. She kissed him again.  
  
"Jesus." Sören was getting more obviously choked up, and Sharon tenderly kissed his tears. "I'm sorry -"  
  
"No need to be sorry. I love your sensitivity." Sharon rubbed his curls.  
  
"I don't want you to think I'm getting, like, hung up..."  
  
"I know you have a boyfriend, Sören. We love each other, we're catching feelings, but we're... friends with benefits. We have something good. I know you get it."  
  
"I do. I'm not asking for marriage or children or anything."  
  
Then Snúður hopped up on the bed with a "prrrp?" - he'd brought Sharon a toy mouse - and they gave the cat skritches before Sharon tossed the mouse, for Snúður to play fetch. "You have this kid."  
  
"Jæja, I guess I do." Sören gave a throaty chuckle. "Watch, I'll end up with a bunch of cats..."  
  
Snúður came back with the mouse. Sören threw it this time.  
  
Sharon kissed the tip of his nose. "If I talk to Frankie -"  
  
"Which you totally should."  
  
"She knows about you already, so, like. That shouldn't be an issue."  
  
Sören nodded. "I hope not."  
  
Sharon gave Sören a look. "You should talk to Nico."  
  
Sören facepalmed. "I... no." Sören gave her a look in return. "Besides." Sören decided to tell someone, somewhere. "Shit is already complicated enough."  
  
"How can it be complicated with two people?"  
  
"There's someone else I. Ah. Kind of like."  
  
"Oh really?" Sharon grinned. "Out with it, then..."  
  
"You're gonna think I'm creepy -"  
  
"What is it, Hells? One of the KISS dolls?" A wicked look. "All of the above?"  
  
Sören had told her the story of Hells's name on the ride back from dinner. Sören gigglesnorted, then shook his head and said, "My teaching assistant, Karen."  
  
"Oh! Well, I mean... are you violating any rules..."  
  
"No. I would if she was a student, I can't date students, nor would I want to. I mean, I do have some hesitation with us working so closely together because I don't want her to feel sexually harassed, don't want to create a hostile work environment..."  
  
"If you ask politely, tell her it's OK to say no, and explain you don't want things to be awkward if she does..." Sharon shrugged. "Might be worth a shot."  
  
"I don't know." Sören rubbed his curls, rubbed his beard, made a face. "I'm really nervous."  
  
Sharon smirked. "Hi Really Nervous, I'm Sharon."  
  
Sören grabbed her nose and she grabbed his, and they laughed together, kissing.  
  
At last Sharon sat up, then she climbed off the bed and went over to get the strap-on. Sören grinned as he watched her put it on. "You ready for a ride?"  
  
Sören nodded enthusiastically. "I love going for rides."


	12. Under Ice

Sharon went back to Portland before Dooku came back from Portland to pick up his cat on Sunday afternoon, and Sören and Dooku went out for a late lunch before Mark picked up Sören and the cat on Sunday evening - with Sören leaving Hells and the KISS action figures at his own house, not ready to return them to Mark just yet. True to Mark's promise that he'd re-establish dominance over Sören every time he played elsewhere, he listened to the details of Sören being pegged by Sharon and then had him in every position Sharon had him - Sören riding Mark, then Mark taking Sören from behind, finishing with Mark on his knees, Sören's legs on his shoulders, Mark fucking Sören harder than Sharon had.  
  
Sören strolled into campus on the morning of Monday the twenty-third walking funny, with a great big cheesy, shit-eating grin on his face. He would have been strutting if he weren't moving so gingerly. When he saw Karen arrive his face lit up even more, and Karen flashed him a smile in return that made his heart sing.  
  
At their break he offered the rainbow sweet-and-sour gummy worms he'd bought over the weekend, and Karen laughed as she took one. Then Karen said, "Would you like to go out for coffee after classes are over?"  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat. It didn't sound like a date, and he was still cautious enough of boundaries to not ask her to clarify what it was, but he was happy to spend some time with her regardless. He nodded. "Sure. I have to tell Nico I won't need a ride home." Then he had a fit of mischief. "Actually, can we run in my house for me to get something? There's a Starbucks and a park not too far from where I live."  
  
"Sure!"  
  
Sören felt nervous all the way back in Karen's car, but he was glad to have some company, and kept smiling at her, which she returned, making him flush and flutter. When they got to Sören's house, Sören invited her in for a minute as he got what he came for. "You want to meet my cat?"  
  
Karen made a happy noise. "You have a kitty?"  
  
Karen got to pet Snúður and fuss over him while Sören used the bathroom, then Sören had Hells and the KISS action figures ready to go in his backpack. At Starbucks they went over lesson plans for the coming week, and then Sören broke the ice by doing something he normally didn't do with people he didn't know well and showed Karen his sketchbook, or the most recent version.  
  
"I have more at home with older stuff," Sören said. "This is what I've been working on over the last few months."  
  
"Sören, wow." Karen chuckled when she saw the sketch of her, that had become a painting. "These are amazing."  
  
"Takk."  
  
Karen continued thumbing through it, studying in detail, as Sören zipped open the backpack he brought and assembled Hells and the KISS action figures around his pumpkin spice latte and hers. When Karen noticed what he was doing she howled.  
  
"What... in the _world_..."  
  
"I'm trolling somebody who needs to laugh." Sören smirked as he took photos.  
  
After their coffee they went to the nearby park. They sat for awhile to feed the ducks and geese and just relax in the calm serenity of the pond and the autumn leaves. Then Sören got up and gestured for Karen to follow. The playground was empty, and Sören arranged Hells and the KISS dolls on the swings and slide and sandbox, taking more pictures as Karen had a gigglefit. At last Sören took a swing himself.  
  
"I'M AN ADULLLLLLLLLLT," Sören yelled as he kicked himself into the air, swinging back and forth.  
  
Karen got on a swing next to him and she began to pump her legs, flying out as Sören swung back, sailing back as Sören soared out. Back and forth they went like two parts of a harmony, until a grownup came in with small children and gave them a dirty look like they didn't belong there, another dirty look when Sören collected Hells and the KISS action figures and shoved them back in his backpack. Sören and Karen snickered on their way out of the playground.  
  
They went back to Sören's place again so Karen could pet Snúður some more, the cat sitting on her lap and purring loudly, but Karen said, "I'm afraid I can't stay too long. I have a scheduled video chat with my brother Ben in a bit before it gets too much later his time... the time difference overseas and all..."  
  
"Oh jæja, I understand, I do video chat with my cousin Ari from time to time so I hear that." Sören nodded, feeling a guilty prickle that it had been a few weeks and he needed to remedy that soon. "And I do have dinner with Nico later, next door. But I had fun!"  
  
"I did too," Karen said. "I'd like to do this again."  
  
"So would I." Sören nodded.  
  
"It's good to be friends when we're working so closely together."  
  
"I agree."  
  
"And..." Karen took a deep breath. "I haven't forgotten what I told you last week, that I'd like to have a shoulder about, well... what happened in 2016. It's why I'm in the States now. So..." Her eyes met Sören's. "What are you doing Friday?"  
  
"In the afternoon? Nothing. In the evening, I have plans."  
  
Sören wondered if now was a good time to tell her he was in a relationship with Mark - he and Mark had thus far been erring on the side of keeping the nature of their relationship private at work, though Dooku knew. Sören did understand that if he was going to take Sharon's advice of asking Karen on a date that wasn't a just-friends-date, he was going to have to be honest with her that he was in an open relationship and involved with more than one person and would have to portion out his time. But he didn't want to go there until he had to go there, and currently he felt like it was a good idea to keep testing the waters before he went there.  
  
"OK, so Friday afternoon after class, we can do coffee again maybe?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Karen raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a Halloween costume picked out yet?"  
  
"I do." Sören grinned. "It's a surprise."  
  
Karen snickered. "Do your little friends have Halloween costumes picked out yet?"  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed. "I like how you think."  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Thursday night, as Sören and Mark lay together in the afterglow of their lovemaking, with Snúður curled up on one side of them and Huan on the other, Sören said, "So, hey, Mark, I have to tell you something."  
  
Mark sat up a little and nodded, like he'd known Sören had things on his mind. He waited.  
  
"You know my teaching assistant? Karen?" Sören looked up at him, feeling nervous. "I, ah. I'm crushing on her pretty hard."  
  
"I see."  
  
"Sharon - haha that rhymes, Sharon and Karen, anyway - Sharon said I should say something to her about it, like... politely, no pressure. I'm worried, I don't want to make things awkward with someone I work with closely, for her or myself, but I felt like I owed it to you to be honest about any theoretical potential partners before I do something."  
  
"I appreciate that," Mark said.  
  
"For the record, I don't know that I'm going to. Like I said, I'm worried -"  
  
"Well, the fact that you're telling me you're at least considering it means you want to, even if you're undecided about whether or not you will."  
  
"Do you have any thoughts or advice?"  
  
"I'm going to be a bit of a hypocrite here, considering how afraid I was of getting involved with you as a mortal, before I couldn't resist anymore... and I'm going to tell you that maybe you should say something to her, if not right away, then... eventually. Pining for someone for months without doing anything about it has the potential to make things as awkward as just telling them and being rejected." Mark gave him a pointed look then. " _As you know_."  
  
Sören felt like he'd been slapped. "Oh no. Et tu, Marcus?"  
  
Mark simply raised an eyebrow in response.  
  
Sören covered his face with his hands and let out a little scream, one that frightened the cat off the bed. Then Sören shook his head. "Why does everyone think I have a thing for Nico?" His face was on fire, not wanting his mind to conjure the mental image of Dooku sweaty and shirtless, or how dapper he was in a suit, or the warmth in his dark eyes when he smiled at Sören, their games of chess, sitting out under the stars...  
  
"Do you want a doctorate thesis, or?"  
  
"Or." Sören glared, facepalmed, slid his hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Definitely or." He glared at Mark again. "It's that obvious?"  
  
"Sören, if it were any more obvious you'd be wearing a sign. Though, it's either not obvious to him, or he's the most polite gentleman in the world and not bringing it up to not embarrass you."  
  
"Well, he is polite." Sören shrugged.  
  
"Sören, you need to tell him."  
  
"No." Sören shook his head. "That is a hard no."  
  
"Why the bloody Hells not? What harm could it do?" Now it was Mark's turn to glare.  
  
"I don't even think he's gay."  
  
"How do you know Dooku isn't gay? Have you asked him?"  
  
"No. I feel like that would be rude. We've been close friends for a year and he has never once brought up his sexual orientation."  
  
"That doesn't sound like straight people behavior, does it?"  
  
"It doesn't sound like gay people behavior, either! And he knows I'm openly queer, so like, if he was? He would have already been out to me. But of course he's not, because, you know, he's not."  
  
"They say 'assume' makes an 'ass' of 'u' and 'me', Sören..."  
  
"Well, I'd be a bigger ass now to ask. I'd feel like an ass. And generally, straight guys tend to freak the fuck out if you ask them 'so, like, are you gay, or what'?"  
  
"Let's say you're wrong and he's gayer than RuPaul on a rainbow cake. What then?"  
  
"That still doesn't mean he'd be into me." Sören repeated what he'd said to Sharon: "I feel like he thinks of me as his idiot brother."  
  
Mark gave a small cough and his lips quirked; Sören wondered what was up with his reaction.  
  
But then reality came crashing back to him, before he could speculate on Mark's reaction too much, and Sören shook his head, irritated with himself for having feelings at all. "I don't want to ruin my friendship with him. I have already been through so much hurt, my pride can't take that kind of rejection, OK?" Sören shrugged. "It's enough that he's in my life as a friend. I'll just have to keep those feelings under ice."  
  
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, a pained look on his face. Then he gave Sören a little kiss on the cheek. "We should get some sleep now." He held Sören tight for a long moment, to defuse the tension between them.  
  
"Jæja, good night, sleep tight..."  
  
"Don't let the love bugs bite." Mark chuckled. "Though it's more like the hounds of love at this point."  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
Mark grinned as he gave Sören a kiss. "Always, little flame."  
  
  
_  
  
  
The afternoon of Friday the twenty-seventh, Sören and Karen went to Starbucks after class, and then Karen brought him to a toy store. Karen and Sören spent awhile just browsing and playing with toys like big kids, and then Sören got slightly more serious as Karen brought him to the section where there were outfits for Barbie and Ken dolls and other types of dolls in a similar size to the KISS action figures. Sören made some difficult decisions on outfits, and on a whim he also picked out some furniture meant for a Barbie house and other types of doll houses, and a garishly hot pink Barbie Corvette convertible for the KISS action figures to ride in. Karen howled, doubling over.  
  
It didn't stop there. There were pieces of clothing meant for stuffed animals, and Sören got a glittery rainbow beret and faux leather jacket for Hells. And for Hells's Halloween costume, he picked out a small, unicorn-or-teddy-sized wizard hat, fake spectacles, and a replica Harry Potter wand.  
  
"We're good to go," Sören said.  
  
At Sören's house he put on tea - he'd learned to make "proper English tea" from Dooku, who was fussy about it - and with Snúður on her lap, Karen's mood went from mischievous and lighthearted to more pensive.  
  
"OK," Karen said. "I have a bit of a story here, and it goes a ways back."  
  
"I've got time," Sören said.  
  
"I used to be a barrister," Karen said. "I was Crown Prosecution. I was damned good at it."  
  
Sören let out a low whistle. "I bet. Though... that's quite a bit of a career change, going from that to, well, this."  
  
Karen nodded. "I had an eating disorder, I was having panic attacks... I had burnout. It wasn't the life for me. It wasn't a life. There are attorneys who probably thrive on the adrenaline and the insane hours... I wasn't one of them. My hand was forced out of the job when I was in a car accident."  
  
"Oh, _shit_." Sören frowned. "I'm sorry." He sipped his tea, feeling for her, a tight ache in his chest. He resisted the impulse to come over and give her a hug, not wanting to be physically inappropriate and make her feel weird. "Is that why..."  
  
"Oh no. There's more, Sören."  
  
Sören braced himself. Burnout and a car accident was bad enough, he had a feeling whatever else would be said would break his heart. On impulse, he got up and came back with tissues.  
  
Karen wasn't yet at the point of crying, but she mumbled her thanks anyway. "I decided to move to Scotland after taking a holiday there and falling in love with it. I went back to school, which is why I'm your teaching assistant now, getting into the field of teaching fine arts was what I decided my real calling was. There's so much magic being lost to the world that needs to be renewed, inspiring new generations..."  
  
"Oh, I absolutely agree."  
  
"I thought you might." Karen looked at the print of Starry Night by Van Gogh framed in Sören's living room - Dooku had gotten him a replacement for the one Seth had destroyed in one of his outbursts. "Anyway, one weekend I was out at a pub, drinking. There were footballers in town, as sometimes the teams go up for a bit of golf." Karen took a deep breath. "I was harassed by one of them. He got very belligerent, very..." She made a face.  
  
"Gross." Sören made a face too. He felt a surge of anger in the man's general direction, wherever he was.  
  
"I should have heeded my gut to go back home then. I was out with a couple of friends, and when I went to the restroom and came back, I had one more drink. Apparently... something was in that drink."  
  
"Oh, Jesus. Karen. No."  
  
"Yeah." Karen nodded. She sighed and looked down.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't mean 'no' like I don't believe you." Sören wanted to drill a hole in the floor and crawl in and die. "I meant 'no' as in ' _the fucking nerve of people_ '..."  
  
"OK." Karen looked up. "I thought so, but..." She sighed again.  
  
"No believe me, I know that sexual assault victims tend to not be believed." Sören swallowed hard. "I know from personal experience."  
  
Karen's eyes widened. "You mean..."  
  
"Karen, I don't want to hijack your story, if there's more to tell -"  
  
"There's a bit more, yeah."  
  
"- but if it would make you feel better at all for me to tell you what happened to me... I don't know, solidarity and all that, so you know I'm on your side..."  
  
Karen reached out and squeezed his hand and nodded. "Please. Yes."  
  
"I got my doctorate at University of Toronto," Sören said. "I went to stay with my genius astrophysicist brother, who teaches there, after I couldn't hack my internship as a doctor, couldn't deal with patients dying. Toronto's party scene is exactly as wild as The Weeknd sings about, it is like that, and I was part of it while I lived there. I was doing ecstasy and ketamine on the weekends to get through school. I was roofied, and I was raped and still don't remember what happened except I woke up... used."  
  
"Oh Jesus, Sören, I'm sorry." Karen's eyes misted.  
  
"That was not the last time I was raped. I moved down here after I got my Ph.D., I didn't want to stay in Toronto anymore and play Schrodinger's Rapist with worrying about whether every random person I met was my assailant, even though Toronto is a huge city. Well, I met this guy, Seth, on a dating app."  
  
"Oh." Karen's eyes widened. "You're gay?"  
  
"I'm bisexual." Sören gave her a pointed look. "I've... had more experience with men, but I like women too."  
  
Karen nodded, her cheeks flushing.  
  
"Anyway... Seth. He was... well, he was my first real long-term relationship. I was used to feeling shitty about myself from my guardians that I didn't really see that the red flags were red flags when they came up. The verbal abuse was first. Then it escalated into physical abuse. Finally, he started forcing himself on me. More than once. Repeatedly."  
  
Karen reached for the tissues now. She grabbed one. Sören didn't cry for himself, feeling cold and numb as he related his own story to her. "He put me in a car accident, which is why I don't drive now, I'm too spooked. I tried and I just... I can't get farther than a couple blocks without freaking out. I stayed with Nico next door for close to a month after the accident because I was too injured to take care of myself and he was amazing. He made me feel safe again. I didn't go to the police about Seth because if you report a rapist, the courts here act like you're the one who did something wrong."  
  
"I know, Sören. It's like that elsewhere, too."  
  
Oh god, I bet you do. Sören continued bracing himself for what was to come. "I knew that I have strikes against me - I'm a queer man with a promiscuous sexual history, they bring that shit up when the opposition is trying to rip your case apart, and I'm an immigrant and it's not a friendly time to be an immigrant in this country, even one from someplace 'white'." Sören made air quotes and made a face, knowing it would be worse if he was from South America or the African continent or the Middle East, disgusted by racism. "So as much as it still sits badly with me that I never prosecuted, I just... I couldn't put myself through that for the small chance that he'd get convicted. I feel like a coward."  
  
"You're not a coward, Sören. It's very understandable."  
  
"He was dealt with, though. Nico. He found Seth at his place of employment, shoved Seth into his car, drove him out to the middle of the woods, beat the shit out of him, really fucked him up - this guy takes martial arts, seriously - and Nico stranded him there. It was a freezing night in December. Seth left town. This was before I told Nico about the rape, this was just what he knew about the physical abuse - Nico defended me when he saw Seth hit me, too."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Please don't tell the police that Nico -"  
  
"I won't, Sören. And, well..." Karen nodded. "That ties in with what I'm about to tell you."  
  
"Oh boy." Sören leaned back and made an "all yours" gesture.  
  
"I woke up in the guy's hotel room. Used. He was going to do it again, and he got violent, and he started talking about how he was going to kill me after. He tried choking me to death. I fought back and I ended up bludgeoning him to death."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped.  
  
"I killed a man, Sören. His name was Justin Roberts. He was an upcoming football star. He was being hailed as the next Beckham."  
  
"I... was born without the sports gene, and he sounds like a real scumbag anyway." Sören wanted to spit. "Good on you to kill him." Sören's chest tightened, a mixture of rage that anyone would dare hurt her - that anyone would hurt anyone this way - and sorrow for the trauma both of the rape itself and that killing anyone was a non-trivial thing for most people, even when the person dying deserved it, even when it was justifiable, knowing this would haunt Karen for the rest of her life. He was also proud of her for killing him. "Like a Valkyrie." He needed tissues now, tearing up for her.  
  
"Well... you'd think so, but I had to go to court." Karen took a deep breath, and her cheeks turned slightly pink. "My defense attorney was someone I went to school with. Anthony. Older than you and I by just a few years. Was nicknamed the Shark - I had to face him in court years ago and he was lethal, but he was exactly the right person to have on my side when what happened, happened. And not just because he's brilliant, but he genuinely felt for my situation. He has a conscience, he got into defense precisely because of situations like this, people killing abusive partners, people who fell down the wrong path because of poverty or addiction or illness... anyway." Karen's flush deepened. "He was... well, he wasn't quite for me what Professor Dooku was for you, but he was like a rock during that time. I found out that Justin Roberts had gotten me pregnant, and he went with me for moral support when I had an abortion."  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm glad this, ah... Anthony... was there for you." He also felt a strange prickle at the back of his neck that he didn't understand. For the briefest instant it felt like a pair of eyes were watching him, like a predatory bird, like he'd come on something's radar. He shook it off with a frisson down his spine.  
  
"He tried to cheer me up, as he could." Karen shook her head. "Anthony's the one I was telling you about, the one who used to call me Bella Swan. It annoyed me when we were in school, and years later when we were facing each other in the courtroom. He said he did it because he likes swans and he claims he's never read _Twilight_."

Sören was starting to notice certain tells - the pink in her cheeks, the look in her eye - and he said, "Were you...?"  
  
"No, Sören, we weren't. He..." Karen sat back in her chair. "He'd just gotten out of a bad relationship with a married man who lied to him about being married - and he's gay, and he wouldn't date a client regardless, it's not professional. Not to mention that when your sexual history is paraded around in the courtroom when you're trying to prove someone raped you, well... we had to be careful. It was bad enough to meet for professional reasons, risky enough for him to go with me when I terminated the pregnancy. And as for me, it was... well... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to him, but like I said, he's gay, not bisexual at all, and even if he was, I wouldn't have been able to handle a relationship at that time, I was a mess. So it was just professional. No lines crossed."  
  
Sören thought about the crush he'd had on Dooku months ago, while he didn't pursue it because he felt like damaged goods after Seth. He rather understood Karen's mindset. He also thought that was tragic, and it made him tear up more, aching for the pain she must have been in.  
  
"The one-year anniversary I told you about was my acquittal. It was a difficult day because even though it meant the case was over, and I wasn't going to go to prison, wasn't going to go through the wringer of constant interrogations and my entire life under a microscope... it wasn't really over. It's why I'm here in the States now." Now Karen took a tissue, starting to get misty. "Football fans in the UK are a special brand of crazy. The police tried to protect my identity at first, but it was leaked. I got harassed, I got threatened. I was in literal fear for my life. Being known as 'the bitch who killed our golden boy, Justin Roberts.'"  
  
"I don't know, sounds like you deserve a medal of honor." Sören also teared up some more, furious.  
  
Karen gave a bitter laugh. "So... I had to leave the country, for my own safety."  
  
"Do you still keep in touch with..."  
  
Karen shook her head. "From time to time I wonder how he's doing but it's too painful to try to look him up. Though I imagine that even if I did... well, he got it even worse than I did. He had to have a bomb squad sent to his chambers at one point -"  
  
"Jesus Fucking _Christ_..."  
  
"So there's a strong chance he may not be in the country either. I saw him looking at travel brochures during one of our last meetings." Karen pursed her lips. "I can't blame him, though it's a shame if the British legal system lost him."  
  
"They brought it on themselves if they can't fucking protect people better than they do." Sören felt the tears flowing. "I'm so sorry, Karen."  
  
"Yeah. So am I."  
  
"I don't judge you. I don't think any less of you."  
  
"I know."  
  
"You're very strong. Very brave."  
  
"Can I... can I have a hug, Sören?"  
  
Sören had been hesitant about touching her, not wanting her to feel triggered in any way, but he came over and pulled her into a fierce hug now, and they cried on each other. Sören cried for Karen more than for himself, wishing there was something he could do to take her pain, make it better, and knowing that he couldn't. What was done was done.  
  
What he did know, now, was that he did in fact have to be very, very careful. He was still interested in her, but he was especially mindful of potential boundary violations now, so... he tried to cool the fire in him, where she was concerned. Pining for months might not be ideal, but neither was sending her into a panic, another man for her to feel unsafe around, another prick seeing her as a sex object and nothing more.  
  
After they held each other for awhile, Karen rubbed Sören's arm. "Thank you, Sören."  
  
"You're welcome. Anytime you need a shoulder to cry on, well... I don't know what your friend situation is like here, but I'd like to be there for you if you need me." Sören genuinely meant that, not even in the hopes that it would turn into more, but Karen really seemed like she needed someone in her corner.  
  
"Right now, I need to laugh. I need to get my mind off of... all of that. Not leave here on such a sad note."  
  
"I can try." Sören got up. "Let's do a test run with the Halloween costumes for the KISS dolls."  
  
They did. Gene Simmons had a glittery hot pink party dress. Ace Frehley was given a charcoal grey suit with white dress shirt and grey tie. Peter Criss was given a rainbow-colored "scene hair" wig and a cybergoth-raver outfit in black and neon green. Paul Stanley had a "Malibu Ken" type outfit with a hibiscus-flowered shirt, board shorts, and a fake flower lei. Then after they were dressed, the newly-dressed up KISS action figures were seated in different poses in their new furniture - lawn chairs, a couch, a bathtub - and to take turns riding two at a time in the Corvette. Karen and Sören were in hysterics, laughing as hard as they'd cried, laughing even harder when Snúður began to chase the Corvette around the living room floor, and dragged Gene Simmons away by the hem of his new glittery pink party dress, in his mouth, like it was a prize. Karen fell over on the floor, rolling.  
  
"Oh. My. God. _Sören_. I think I broke something." Karen leaned on him, wheezing.  
  
"God, why are we like this?"  
  
"I don't know, but I like it."  
  
And Sören felt that ache again - he really wanted to kiss her, but he doubled down on his resolve to say nothing, do nothing. She needed a friend. He needed to be a friend, needed to not make her feel threatened by him.  
  
When it was time for Sören to walk Karen to her car, they lingered for a moment, and then Karen grabbed him and hugged him again. As the old-gold light of late afternoon washed over them, setting golden fire to Karen's silvery-white hair flowing loose, Sören heard a loud croak and looked up to see a raven flying, circling, for a moment blotting out the sun. His jaw dropped - he'd seen a lot of crows since moving to Oregon, but that was most certainly a raven.  
  
Karen saw it too, before she got in her car. She waved to it as it began descending, flying closer to them, staring at them - Sören got chills - and she called, "Hey! Nevermore!"  
  
The raven croaked again and took a shit on the hood of Karen's car before flying off.  
  
Mark came over that evening - Sören hid Hells and the KISS action figures, not ready to return them just yet. As Mark set to work making dinner and Sören kept Mark company in the kitchen, he asked, "How did it go with Karen?"  
  
"It went."  
  
Mark raised an eyebrow. "That sounds... hm." Mark continued chopping vegetables. "Did you say something to her?"  
  
"I can't."  
  
Mark sighed. "Sören, you remember what I told you about pining -"  
  
"OK, look. I can't get into her personal business here, but..." Sören shook his head. "After some stuff I found out, she's going to have to be the one to ask me, if we go there. I have to be... careful. That's all I can tell you."  
  
Later in the evening, Sören found himself getting upset about Karen again, trying not to cry, but Mark knew he was upset.  
  
"Make love to me," Sören said. "I need to get out of my head for awhile."  
  
Without a word, Mark physically picked Sören up off the couch and carried Sören down the hall in his arms to the bedroom. They made slow, sweet, tender love for hours, tasting and touching every inch of each other's bodies, sucking and rimming each other, the two taking turns inside each other. They came again and again, but still hungered for more, losing themselves in that dreamy haze of sensuality, where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt, there was only love, togetherness, joy, the intoxicating mix of their wild passion blended with the peace of belonging, having space to just be with each other.  
  
When it was all over, Mark rocked Sören in his arms and sang "Stairway To Heaven" to put Sören to sleep.


	13. Snowflake

It was now Tuesday, October thirty-first - Halloween. For once in his life, Sören set the alarm early so he could have extra time to get in his Halloween costume, donning the leather armor and breeches with wolf breastplate, and the thick black cloak modified by furry-looking black rugs from IKEA, to become Jon Snow, complete with a replica of his sword Longclaw. He still couldn't believe he was doing this, but then, he had asked Dooku to dress up as Dracula and that was contingent on Dooku picking out his costume. Dooku knew how much Sören was annoyed (albeit affectionately) by his students calling him "King in the North" and "Lord Commander" due to his striking resemblance to Jon Snow's actor, so Sören supposed he had walked into it, payback long overdue for the months of trolling his best friend. He was secretly proud of Dooku finally revealing his hidden troll side.  
  
While he'd thought Dooku would make a nice-looking Dracula, nothing could prepare him for when Dooku came to his door - instead of Sören going out to Dooku's car - and there he was, all six feet five inches of him, lean but muscular, powerful, in a long black velvet cape with a red interior, a black tunic sporting a delicate red trim on the hems, and black breeches. He hissed at Sören, showing fake fangs, and Sören giggled, but also felt his cock stirring and his hole twitching around the buttplug he wore under his Jon Snow costume. _Oh shit, he's hot._  
  
"Where is Ghost?" Dooku asked, giving Sören a stern look.  
  
"Er," Sören said, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. "I don't know."  
  
"Of course you don't know..."  
  
Sören picked up the bucket of assorted, wrapped fun-sized candy he'd bought for his students and was sitting by the front door. Dooku led Sören out to the car and when Sören got in, Dooku reached in back and pulled out a large white wolf plushie. Sören squeaked and found himself throwing his arms around Dooku's neck, screaming, laughing and crying, as Dooku smiled fondly.  
  
"Look," Dooku said, taking one of the wolf plushie's paws. "He has velcro on his paws, so you can clasp him around your neck and take him for piggyback rides."  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THAT'S SO CUTE I'M GONNA DIE."  
  
"No dying," Dooku said.  
  
Sören hugged the plushie wolf, rocking him in his arms as Dooku drove to campus. "You're so good to me," Sören said to Dooku.  
  
"You're very dear to me, Sören," Dooku said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road.  
  
"You too." Sören put a hand on his arm, and withdrew after a few seconds as heat flooded him, fingertips tingling. _If only you knew._ "AAAAAAAAAAAA, what a good puppy."  
  
Mark had told Sören that he was leaving his own Halloween costume as a surprise but Sören would see it before the day was over. Sören still took a walk around campus, hoping he could catch Mark before Mark decided to show him. There was no sign of Mark, but Sören stifled a laugh as he passed by Professor Mace Windu dressed up as Nick Fury, who gave him a fearsome glare before Sören was out of the range of his sight.  
  
Usually Karen got there before the first few early bird students showed up, but today students were starting to show up first, some in costume, some not. His students took a moment to laugh as they piled in, and Sören, trying to stay in character, gave them stern, brooding looks in return, but then the brooding became genuine as the time got closer to when class would be in session and still no Karen.  
  
Finally, when his back was turned to the door as he got out the notes he would be using for the day's lesson, he heard the word, "Crow," but it sounded more like "Cruh." Then he felt something hit him in the arm, and when he looked, he had a velcro dart attached to his arm.  
  
He turned around and saw Karen in a grey faux fur coat over a wooly white sweater and grey pants, wearing a red wig with half the hair in a ponytail and the rest worn loose, carrying a toy bow and arrow set. Sören completely broke out of character, doubling over laughing when he recognized who she was supposed to be, which just made Karen give him a fierce scowl. "Ya think I'm playin' games wit' ya, Crow?" she snarled, taking her bow and arrow and aiming for Sören's forehead.  
  
"Think of the children," Sören said, taking Ghost off from where it was wrapped around his neck, holding it between himself and Karen.  
  
Now Karen was giggling. She reached out to hug the wolf plushie - and then she snatched it away from Sören, scowling at him again. "Mine now... Crow." She made off with the plushie, stealing away to the back of the classroom.  
  
It was now exactly time for class. The students were in hysterics, and Sören gave them a moment to calm down before he started, going back in-character to get everyone's attention by slamming his palm down on the desk. "Right, so Professor Sigurðsson and Ms. Swanson can't be here today. I'm Lord Commander Jon Snow and this is my assistant, Ygritte, you will refer to me today as Commander Snow. Does anyone have any questions before we begin?"  
  
A raised hand. "What happened to Professor Sigurðsson and Ms. Swanson?"  
  
"I don't know," Sören said. He saw Karen giggle in the back of the classroom.  
  
Another raised hand. "I heard that instead of White Walkers, we're potentially in danger from vampires and zombies. Can you confirm?"  
  
"That might be an issue, yes. We should remain vigilant but keep calm, panic only breeds chaos."  
  
The same student asked, "OK, but what about the threat of clowns?"  
  
"...I don't know."  
  
Another raised hand. "How can you teach us if you know nothing?"  
  
"I don't know," Sören said, trying not to grin, scowling harder. Karen was losing it now.  
  
Towards the end of the class, Karen came back to the front of the classroom, and Sören reached out for Ghost. "Can I have my wolf back now?" he asked.  
  
"Come and get him... Crow." Karen stuck out her tongue at Sören and ran away with Ghost again.  
  
Sören chased Karen around the classroom while the students were at work drawing, which made a bit of a scene, his students howling and laughing and cheering them on. Karen shot Sören with another velcro arrow, and Sören took out the Longclaw replica, brandishing it.  
  
"Ooooh, look at ya with yer fancy lad sword," Karen jeered. "Nice big, long sword that ya got there."  
  
Sören's mind immediately went in the gutter, especially considering the nature of Jon Snow and Ygritte's relationship, but he thought she was just acting in-character, not wanting to get his hopes up over her. "Give me back my wolf and no one gets hurt."  
  
He grabbed Ghost and he and Karen got into a tug-of-war, marching to the front of the classroom where they continued to pull on Ghost in front of the class. Sören managed to wrench Ghost away from Karen, and then he proferred the bucket of Halloween treats. "You fought well, milady. A consolation prize."  
  
"I ain't no lady, Crow," Karen sneered, eyes laughing, and then her face lit up as she grabbed toffee out of the bucket. "Oooh."  
  
As class wrapped up and the students began clearing out, Sören shook the bucket of candy and told them, "Don't forget to take provisions since, you know... winter is coming."  
  
Once the students were gone, most of whom had taken candy, and it was just the two of them, Karen leaned on Sören's desk, taking another piece of toffee, laughing out loud now.  
  
"Jesus Christ, Karen," Sören said. "I can't believe your costume. I had no idea you were going to be Ygritte. I would have thought you'd be Dany, with your platinum blonde hair and all."  
  
"Ya know nuthin', Jun Snuh," Karen said in her Ygritte accent, before flashing Sören a grin.  
  
Sören's face was on fire. "Nico asked me to be Jon Snow, since I made him dress up as Dracula." He patted Ghost. "He got me this. I wasn't expecting it."  
  
"Awwww, he's so sweet to you. And that's a great Jon Snow costume, so accurate to the original!"  
  
 _Jæja, with a buttplug under my clothes_. Sören tried not to snicker to himself about it. "Takk. Your costume is... great... too. Wow."  
  
Karen tossed a caramel at Sören, who caught it, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth. "I'm going to the canteen," Karen said. "Are you staying here...?"  
  
Karen nodded. "I gotta clean up before the next class."  
  
"Can I bring you back anything?"  
  
"A Sprite if you don't mind..." Sören got out his wallet. Karen waved her hand.  
  
"It's on me," she said, "for being a good sport." She smiled. "I didn't know you were actually going to be Jon Snow, I wanted to dress like this to pick on you since the kids call you King in the North and Lord Commander anyway..."  
  
"It's pretty funny," Sören said. His face was still on fire. He felt so confused now, but he once again doubled down on his resolve to not trigger Karen or make her feel sexually harassed, that if the spark he'd felt between them wasn't just wishful thinking she'd have to say something to him.  
  
"All right, back in a few."  
  
Once again for their second class, Sören and Karen stayed in-character as Jon Snow and Ygritte, albeit with less rowdiness than before - this time Karen just shouted out the occasional "Crow" at Sören as he was speaking. Then, partway into the class, the rowdiness came from a different source.  
  
Professor Mark Lowry arrived at the doorstep to Sören's classroom, dressed in a white ruffly, frilly blouse, black leather pants, and a black tricorn hat set with large black and grey feathers. Sören's jaw dropped when he saw Mark's hair down to his thighs, knowing everyone on campus would assume it was a wig, but Sören knew the truth that it was not. Sören assumed that the unglamoured hair was part vanity on the one day he could get away with it in public, and part to compensate for not wearing his glasses today to assist with glamouring his eyes, one of them covered by an eyepatch.  
  
Karen's jaw also dropped at the sight of Mark, her face turning pink.  
  
"Arrrrrrrr," Mark growled. "We do not sow."  
  
Sören facepalmed. _That's not anything like how House Greyjoy dresses_ , Sören spoke into Mark's mind.  
  
"I heard there was Vikings here," Mark said in a very exaggerated fake lower-class British accent, looking around Sören's classroom. "Y' know anything about that?"  
  
"I know nothing," Sören said, with a sly glance at Karen.  
  
Mark gave Sören a suspicious look, and then he saw the bucket of candy on Sören's desk. "Arrrrrrrrr, booty," he said, with a pointed look at Sören as he snatched the bucket of candy, letting Sören know exactly what he was thinking by the word "booty". Sören's face was on fire again and his hole twitched around the plug inside him.  
  
"You can't take that!" Sören said.  
  
But before he could draw Longclaw on Mark, he pulled his own replica sword, and walked backwards out of Sören's classroom with the bucket of candy. Karen shot an arrow at him, which just barely missed Mark before he was out.  
  
"Hey!" Sören yelled to his students, deciding a little break for fun was in order. "Are we gonna let him get away with that, or are we going to raid him right back?"  
  
"Let's raid him!" Karen shouted.  
  
A couple of the students began pounding on their desks, which led to the rest of them doing it. "Let's go do a raid, Viking-style, make Professor Sigurðsson proud of you when he gets back," Sören said.  
  
"KING IN THE NORTH!" the students cheered. "KING IN THE NORTH!"  
  
Sören grabbed Ghost, put the plushie around his neck again to ride piggyback, and he and Karen gestured for the class to follow him. Sören and Karen led their students across the art-and-music wing of the campus, down to Mark Lowry's classroom, where he was giving a lecture in his usual voice.  
  
"HEY!" Sören shouted, interrupting, barging in. "CANDY THIEF!"  
  
"Arrrrr," Mark said, drawing his replica sword. He returned to the deliberately horrible "pirate" accent. "Shiver me timbers, matey."  
  
Sören and Mark began dueling with their fake swords - the homoerotic subtext was not lost on Sören, and was apparently not lost on Karen, blushing fiercely, as well as some of the students of both men, who were wolf whistling and giggling. Sören and Mark still weren't out as a couple - yet - but it was hard to hide the attraction as their swords clashed, eyes locked.  
  
At last, while Mark's back was turned, Karen rushed and stole back the bucket of candy from Mark's desk, and the candy that Mark himself had brought for his own students. Mark moved his sword towards Karen, who got out of the way just before he could score a "hit", and she thrust Mark's bucket of candy into Sören's free hand, rushing towards the door, putting down Sören's bucket of candy beside her, and readying her bow and arrow. As Mark reached to grab back the bucket of candy, Karen shot him with two of the velcro arrows, one of which knocked his hat off. For a split second Sören panicked, hoping that Mark's ears wouldn't be revealed with the movement of his hair as the hat fell off, but Mark deftly snatched up the hat and put it back on his head, and Sören and Karen used the distraction to start exiting Mark's classroom with Sören's bucket of candy safely returned.  
  
"Ye may have gotten away this time," Mark yelled, "but I'll get you, my pretty... and your little dog too."  
  
Sören's face burned and he couldn't help flashing Mark a grin, mischief returned in Mark's own eyes.  
  
Then, just before Sören and Karen could step out of the classroom altogether, Karen shot Sören with an arrow and took the bucket of candy from him.  
  
"Hey! What was that for?"  
  
Karen smirked. "'Cuz ya know nuthin', Jun Snuh."  
  
  
_  
  
  
After school, Dooku offered to drive Sören to Mark's house that evening instead of Mark picking up Sören as usual, which Sören thought was a kind gesture.  
  
While Sören was still at home, he arranged Mark's KISS action figures, in their Halloween costumes, around Hells, who was now sporting a wizard hat and spectacles and had a Harry Potter replica wand near him. Hells was guarding the bucket of candy that Mark stole, which had a few pieces of candy left after his second class. Sören snapped some photos to show Mark later, the last one being of Gene Simmons and Ace Frehley riding Hells while Peter Criss and Paul Stanley rode in the hot pink Barbie Corvette.  
  
When Sören was ready to go, with Snúður in the cat carrier, he got in Dooku's car and they began the drive to Mark's place. Sören was still in his Jon Snow costume, and noticed Dooku kept looking at him on the way there.  
  
"I'm going to Portland again this weekend," Dooku informed him.  
  
"Will you need me to watch Beowulf again?"  
  
"I don't want to disrupt whatever plans you have. He can manage being left alone overnight. He'll sulk, but he shall manage."  
  
"OK. This for a protest?"  
  
Dooku nodded. "When I went down the weekend before last it was a planning meeting. This Saturday is one of the actual demonstrations coming up."  
  
"Good luck. Please be careful."  
  
"I will most certainly try."  
  
Sören felt an icy grip in the pit of his stomach, worrying about Dooku again. He felt stupid worrying about him, knowing Dooku could take care of himself, but that made the thought of something happening to him no less devastating... Sören swallowed hard, trying to push those thoughts away. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't result in him having feelings overload and possibly crying, and he really didn't want to get like that now on what had been a fun, lighthearted day.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Sören said when they got to Mark's house.  
  
"You shall. Goodnight, Sören." Dooku gave him a small smile. Then, with a bigger smile, he said, "My apologies. Lord Commander Snow."  
  
"Night, Drac." Sören patted his shoulder on the way out.  
  
Sören knocked on Mark's front door. "Trick or treat," he yelled.  
  
Mark opened the door and made the "come in" gesture. Mark was still in his pirate costume - he and Sören were going to pass out candy to trick-or-treaters later, if there were any.  
  
"I can't even with you stealing my candy," Sören said as he kicked off his Doc Martens, letting the cat out of the carrier.  
  
"Oh that's rich, from the guy who stole my unicorn and my KISS dolls." Then, as Mark saw the wicked grin on Sören's face, he facepalmed, catching himself. "Action fig - fuck it."  
  
Sören howled.  
  
Mark put a hand on his hip. "So, are you ever going to return them to me? I would kind of like them back at some point. Hells is of sentimental value to me, considering who gifted him, and the KISS dol - action figures -" Mark's brow furrowed as Sören howled again. "Are of nostalgic value."  
  
"They've been having so much fun." Sören produced his phone and showed Mark the pictures. "Look, they're doing Halloween! Hells is taking them to a party."  
  
"That is seriously disturbing." Mark was trying very hard to keep a stern expression on his face and not laugh, and failing at it.  
  
"Not as disturbing as whatever the fuck that accent was you were using earlier."  
  
Mark kissed Sören's cheek and reached under Sören's cloak to slap his ass, still in leather trousers. "But seriously. Sören." Mark gave him a look. "Gimme back my stuff."  
  
"I'll think about it. Slave labor isn't very nice..." Sören cackled as Mark's glare intensified. "So you should, you know, maybe think about compensating those poor KISS dolls for all their years of performing non-stop."  
  
Mark folded his arms. "And what would you propose as back pay, Lord Commander?"  
  
Sören thought for a moment, stroking his beard, deciding he needed to go with something silly and random to go with the silly randomness of this journey so far. "Cheezits."  
  
"...OK."  
  
"And you should let them take breaks sometimes. No more slave labor."  
  
"Sören, I can't even with you."  
  
"You love it."  
  
Mark rolled his eyes, but the twinkle in his eye and the slight quirk of his lips indicated he did, in fact, love it. "I thought it would be hard for you to top the ridiculousness of this afternoon."  
  
"That was fun," Sören said, his face lighting up. "I think our respective students loved that."  
  
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Karen's costume was a bit brazen, was it not?"  
  
Sören's face burned. "It was just a costume."  
  
Mark covered his face with his hands for a moment and he made a dying whale noise. Then he glared at Sören. "You know nothing. Seriously."  
  
"I know that I have to be really careful -"  
  
"Sören, I swear..." Mark looked out the window, and for a moment it seemed like he was looking not outside at the immediate neighborhood but at something far away. "I wish you would... just..."  
  
"What? Just what?"  
  
Mark gave a deep sigh. "Never mind." He patted Sören's shoulder.  
  
Sören felt a little stung, and wanted to press it, wanted to know why Mark seemed frustrated with him all of a sudden, but then Mark pulled him into a tight, fierce hug. "I love you, little flame. Even if you don't see how lovable you are, you are very, very loved." Mark pressed a kiss to Sören's brow.  
  
The stung feeling melted into a surge of love for Mark, his tenderness and compassion, being gentle with him when he needed it. Sören reached up to take Mark's face in his hands and gave him a little kiss, which deepened, lips parting, tongues swirling, teasing, both men groaning into the kiss.  
  
Sören found himself pushing Mark against the wall then getting down on his knees, undoing Mark's breeches. Mark laughed, guiding them down.  
  
"I did say trick or treat," Sören said.  
  
"Yes, you did, little flame." Mark cupped Sören's chin in his hand as he got his cock out with the other, springing to hardness at the eager look in Sören's eyes.  
  
"Oh, what a nice big lollipop." Sören took a lick at the head of Mark's cock, then his tongue slid down the length of Mark's shaft and back up again, teasing the slit.  
  
Mark groaned, eyes narrowing, darkening, grabbing Sören's curls, and groaned louder as Sören gave a few more slow, deliberate licks before taking Mark's cock into his mouth, sucking slow and sweet, wanting Mark to see the worship in his eyes. The gratitude for the simple gift of Mark's love, which had made all the difference in his life.


	14. All We Ever Look For

"Prrrp?"  
  
Sören had just gotten in the door, and Snúður was there to greet him, tail held high. Snúður headbutted Sören's leg before rubbing against his legs, and Sören stooped down to pet his cat, chuckling. " _Ó já, ég saknaði þín líka. Pabbi er heima núna. Nú er kominn tími til að þú fáir öll nuddin og rispurnar og ástina, já?_ " Sören kicked off his boots and made his way to the couch with Snúður trotting beside and then ahead of him, hopping up onto the couch and crawling to the side to make room for Sören to get on, then he climbed onto Sören's lap, purring loudly. Sören rubbed and skritched the cat, smiling fondly. " _Já, hvað góður drengur. Já, hvað góður, ljúfur lítill strákur. Svo góður barnaköttur._ "  
  
Then Sören's cell phone went off in his pocket. Snúður jumped, a reaction Sören found hilarious even though he felt guilty for laughing. Snúður gave him a withering look as he got off the couch and shuffled off to the kitchen; Sören took out his phone and saw it was Sharon calling. _I need to get her a ringtone._  
  
"Sharon, hi!"  
  
"Hi Sören. Am I interrupting anything?"  
  
"No, just my cat getting spoiled." Snúður was now crunching food loudly in the kitchen. "He's eating now. What's up?"  
  
"Frankie and I are an item now."  
  
"Congratulations!" Sören was genuinely happy for her. "So you had a talk, já?"  
  
"More or less. And... well, she's even more interested in meeting you now. You want to come over this weekend? She's actually not working this weekend, she'll be around."  
  
It was Wednesday, November first. "I think I can do that." He remembered that Dooku was going to Portland over the weekend. "I can try to coordinate a ride with Nico on the way down -"  
  
"Oh, you're going to ask Nico to give you a ride, eh?"  
  
 _Mind, gutter. We are NOT going to think about me on his cock..._ Sören shivered, his cock stirring, hole twitching around the plug inside him as his mind went there, a mental image of him bouncing madly on his best friend, crying out " _Pabbi, Pabbi_..."  
  
"Jæja, I'll ask him if he wants to go down. Er, take me down." _Brain, stop._ Now the mental image of Dooku giving him a blowjob... "I think I'd prefer to have you take me back, though, so that way I don't have to be rushed with time... presuming I'm spending the night?"  
  
"That's the plan, my dude."  
  
"OK good. So we'll do that... I'll ask Nico what time he's leaving on Saturday so I can give you an answer about when I'm coming..." Sharon was snickering now and Sören couldn't help laughing too, his face on fire. "And you guys can bring me back sometime Sunday?"  
  
"Works for me."  
  
"I should have an answer about what time I'm coming tomorrow. I'd rather ask him in person, and he's at the gym..." _Oh god, I didn't need to think about that, either._ Dooku working up a sweat, then showering off... Sören shivered again, cock twinging. _God dammit, could we not._ "And Mark is coming over in a bit."  
  
"Yeah, telling me tomorrow is fine, or even if you don't know till Friday, that's fine. Just wanted to confirm a yes, so we can be prepared and all that."  
  
"Oh and um... I'll need your address. Need to know where it is I'm going."  
  
"Oh, yeah, sorry, duh. You got a pen and paper handy?"  
  
"Not yet, but..." Sören got up and grabbed it from the kitchen. "Go ahead."  
  
Sharon gave him the address of a place in northeast Portland, and apartment number. They got into talk then of Sharon's job - anecdotes about her co-workers, some of the weirder and more annoying experiences she'd had with restaurant patrons. Sören told her what he'd been teaching lately in school, and related the tale of dressing up like Jon Snow for Halloween. "And Karen was Ygritte."  
  
"Why have you not said anything to her?"  
  
"Oh god, Sharon. I... I can't. I don't want to get into it, but she's... recovering from some stuff and I don't want to make her feel unsafe around me."  
  
"Um, Sören? Her dressing up like Ygritte sounds like she, you know, is hoping you'll get the hint to say something to her."  
  
"She didn't know I was going to be Jon Snow for Halloween."  
  
"That..." Sharon took a deep breath. "Wow, Sören, that was the perfect costume for you. You not only look a lot like him, but you know nothing." Sharon giggled then. "Well, you know one thing."  
  
"I'm looking forward to demonstrating my knowledge of that subject this weekend."  
  
"Good. I'll talk to you tomorrow, probably?"  
  
"Probably." Sören blew a kiss into the phone.  
  
  
_  
  
  
As it turned out, Dooku was more than willing to bring Sören down to Portland with him for Saturday, November fourth, but the protest he would be attending started in the early afternoon and he wanted to arrive with some time to spare, so Sören would have to leave at an hour earlier than he normally would have liked on a Saturday, preferring to sleep in on the weekends. Still, Sören felt bad about asking Sharon to do a round trip to Portland on Saturday to pick him up and bring him over, and he wanted to spend some time with Dooku, trying hard to not worry about him at the protest, and worrying anyway. Dooku offered to take Sören out to breakfast, which was an added bonus.  
  
Mark was watching Sören's cat for the weekend, not that Snúður couldn't be left alone overnight if given enough food and water, but Sören didn't like the idea of leaving him alone overnight. Mark liked having the cat around and didn't mind, but Sören still felt a prickle of guilt, not wanting to impose. He was also aware this was another Saturday night he was spending with Sharon, and while Mark had said that an open relationship was fine and he didn't want to monopolize all of Sören's time, Sören still felt like he owed Mark next weekend for just the two of them. So Sören had decided to rent a cabin on Cannon Beach for that weekend. Mark's eyes lit up when Sören told him about the cabin - Mark not only had a draw to the sea, but renting a house together for the weekend was reminiscent of how they'd accidentally ended up as roommates sharing a house in Sausalito over the summer, where they had fallen in love.  
  
It was a grey, gloomy day - not raining just yet, but the sky bearing the threat of it, and it was damp enough for fog, which made Dooku's commitment to this protest even more impressive to Sören. Dooku had classic rock on the car stereo as he drove, which further made Sören nostalgic for the summer as he reviewed pictures and details of the cabin online on his phone for seemingly the twentieth time or so since he'd made arrangements.  
  
Dooku finally glanced over at Sören. "Ah, Cannon Beach?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Mark and I will be going there next weekend. I rented a cabin."  
  
"I see. Special occasion, or...?"  
  
"Just wanted to do something nice and romantic. I never got to do any of that with Seth."  
  
Dooku's nostrils flared at the mention of Sören's ex. "He didn't deserve it, anyway."  
  
"No shit." Sören looked over at Dooku, feeling a little flutter at how handsome he was when angry. "You have plans for next weekend, yourself?"  
  
"I'm going to another protest next weekend."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I apologize for not being able to give you a ride back this evening, by the time the demonstration is over it will have been long enough and I'll have been on my feet enough time that I'll want to check into my hotel and not drive..."  
  
"It's all right, Nico, I told you, I've got a ride back." What Sören didn't want to tell him was that the ride back was tomorrow afternoon sometime and he was spending the night in Portland himself, for a different reason. It wasn't that Sören wanted to lie to Dooku about Sharon, but he didn't see a reason in parading around his sex life in front of his best friend either, who always seemed a touch uncomfortable with the subject.  
  
"All right. If you're sure."  
  
They were quiet then, which wasn't an unusual state of affairs for them - sometimes they talked about things, sometimes they didn't. Sören could see Dooku was pensive, probably reflecting on the state of affairs in this country that had led him to come out of semi-retirement with activism and start going to marches and protests again. And Sören, himself, was nervous for Dooku, not wanting him to run into trouble with the police or the far-right - today's event was an anti-fascist counter-protest of a fascist demonstration. Sören thought Dooku was incredibly brave - even though he could, indeed, hold his own with his size and conditioning. And it was that courage, and the strength of his convictions, that made Sören respect and admire him even more.  
  
Before they left Corvallis to get on the highway for Portland, Dooku opted to take Sören to a family-owned-and-operated restaurant rather than a chain like IHOP or Denny's. Dooku opted for a Denver omelet with hash browns, toast, and a side of bacon, and Sören went with strawberry blintzes and hash browns. Sören stole a piece of bacon from Dooku's plate and Dooku kicked him under the table, but his eyes were smiling. Sören kicked him back. Then Dooku looked aghast as Sören dipped the bacon in the strawberry-whipped-cream mixture of his blintzes before eating it.  
  
"That is not how you eat bacon," Dooku said.  
  
"It is now." Sören smiled as he nibbled. "OM NOM NOM. MMMMMMMMMMMMM."  
  
"You're such a brat. Though I suppose, it could be worse, at least you're not putting that on your hash browns."  
  
"Oh, good idea." Sören mixed a bit of strawberry blintz with hash brown on his fork and put it in his mouth just to get a rise out of Dooku. He almost choked on the bite of food at the pained look on Dooku's face.  
  
Sören took a sip of orange juice. "You know you need this. Why worry about run-ins with actual neonazis, when you can worry about food you don't think goes together being mixed up?"  
  
Dooku laughed too. He reached across the table and patted Sören's hand, turning slightly pink as he did, eyes twinkling. "Puts a whole new meaning to bread and circuses," he said, passing Sören a piece of his toast. "There's a clown right here."  
  
Sören stuck his tongue out at Dooku. "So what are you, the lion tamer?"  
  
"Comparing the fascist filth to lions is an insult to such a noble beast. Nor am I sure that lions should be tamed, ethically. I rather like lions to be wild, as nature intended." Dooku sipped his coffee, and his eyes were intense now rather than mischievous. "With the way the world has been stirring me up inside, I feel more like the fire-eater."  
  
Sören almost choked on his food again, this time for completely different reasons. _Mind, gutter._ His cock stirred at the mental image of Dooku "fire-eating", hungrily taking him into his mouth...  
  
 _Could we not think these thoughts about our best friend?_ Sören's face burned. It didn't help that Dooku was dressed in a suit and tie to attend the protest, charcoal grey, and he even had a waistcoat. Sören thought he looked very handsome, especially in his trenchcoat and fedora.  
  
Sören himself was dressed down since it was just Sharon and Frankie, and he imagined he'd be naked later anyway. He wore jeans, and a blue plaid flannel T-shirt worn open over a Rage Against the Machine T-shirt - wearing the band in part for solidarity with Dooku's activism, in part because it was clean and he hadn't worn it in awhile. He had on his black leather bomber, he was wearing his usual glasses to see, and his curls were in a loose, messy man bun. The two definitely made a strange sight together, different as they were, and Sören was always a bit amused by the obvious differences and yet, how close they were.  
  
Dooku insisted on paying for them both, as he did, and he left a generous tip for their server, which was another thing Sören appreciated about him. On the way out of the restaurant, back to Dooku's Jaguar, Sören leaned in and gave him an affectionate squeeze, even though he knew Dooku was reserved about hugging - a lot of straight guys are, with being hugged by gay guys, Sören thought to himself. It just felt right, and Sören wanted to give some tangible expression of how much he cared about his best friend when Dooku was riding off to potential danger.  
  
 _You will come back to me_. Sören closed his eyes for a moment as his arms tightened around Dooku's waist, feeling a grip on his heart, not wanting to think about his best friend hurt or arrested or...  
  
To Sören's surprise, Dooku reached back and ruffled what he could of Sören's curls with his hair up in a man bun, then patted the man bun, chuckling. Just the simple little touch sent fire coursing through Sören's veins and when they got to the Jaguar, Sören fought off the urge to slam Dooku up against the car, grab him, and kiss him as hard as he could.  
  
 _What the hell is wrong with you? He wouldn't like that at all. Let's not ruin one of the few friendships we've got, dumbass._  
  
The hour-and-twenty minute drive from Corvallis to Portland felt like torture, with Sören's worries of Dooku in various bad scenarios at the protest now being replaced with the mental image of kissing Dooku and Dooku reacting badly to the kiss. Sören tried to distract himself, but he kept coming back to that ache, and then trying to shove it away.  
  
This was not good. This was not good at all.  
  
Sören decided to reach for one of his other coping mechanisms than humor: music. Classic rock was something they could both appreciate, and Sören sang along with the songs that came up, with Dooku smiling fondly.  
  
A few exits away from the one they were supposed to take into Portland, a charcoal grey Audi A7 began riding right on their bumper, and Sören could hear the sound of Jamiroquai bumping.  
  
"Bah," Dooku said with a scowl, glancing into his rear-view mirror. "I'm already driving at the speed limit, he needn't drive so close behind. I'm tempted to slow down just to annoy him."  
  
"You totally should." _Let the games begin._  
  
Dooku slowed down not by much, since they were in the fast lane, but enough that it made the Audi tailgating them honk in protest. Dooku drove with a small, evil smile on his face.  
  
After a couple more minutes of driving a little slower than before, with the Audi continuing to honk, Sören watched from the passenger's side window as the Audi merged into the next lane over. Dooku resumed his usual speed just as the Audi zipped forward and merged back into the fast lane ahead of them, turning Jamiroquai up louder as if to say "fuck you guys".  
  
 _You make me love you, love you baby  
With a little L  
Why does it have to be like this  
I can never tell_  
  
"What a dick," Sören said. He noticed a small rainbow flag decal on the Audi's bumper. "Well, at least they're not likely to be going to the fascist bullshit."  
  
"No, I imagine not. It's a cold comfort when it seems so much of the world has gone mad."  
  
Sören paid attention enough to the road ahead to see the Audi take the exit into Portland, and then a few minutes later it was their turn. Dooku glanced at the dashboard and then over at Sören. "Before I drop you off at your friend's house, do you mind terribly if I stop for petrol? I was going to do it last night and I was a bit distracted."  
  
"I don't mind." Sören grasped for levity again, needing to get his mind off... everything. "Though around these parts, people call it 'gas'."  
  
"I'm aware of what the Americans call it. As long as I've been here, it's still a term I shan't use. Makes it sound flatulent. So vulgar. Then, what do I expect, this country elected Trump."  
  
Sören threw back his head and laughed. "Don't ever change, Nico."  
  
Dooku smiled, pleased with himself.  
  
"They'd tell you to go home," Sören said, making a face, "even though this has, you know, been your home since the 1970s." Sören cackled. "Great Britain's not sending us their best people..."  
  
"Oh, heavens."  
  
Dooku stopped at the first gas station near the exit. Oregon was one of the only states to require gas stations be full-service, which meant having an attendant pump gas instead of customers doing it themselves. Dooku pulled in front of a pump, paid, and waited as his tank was filled.  
  
The gas station had a convenience store attached, which Sören normally didn't pay much mind to - if you'd seen one, you'd seen them all. Then out of the corner of his eye he noticed the same Audi parked in front of the store. His eyebrow went up, as Dooku turned up a song by Fleetwood Mac that had just come on.  
  
 _Listen to the wind blow  
Watch the sun rise  
Run in the shadows  
Damn your love  
Damn your lies_  
  
There was someone in the Audi, and Sören whacked Dooku's arm and said, "Hey, jerkface is getting out. I'm gonna, just..."  
  
The man had his back turned to Sören as he got out of the car - leather trenchcoat, short black hair neatly styled. Sören got out of Dooku's Jaguar, put his fingers in his lips, and whistled. "HEY! ASSHOLE!"  
  
The man started to turn around, as Fleetwood Mac continued blaring out of the car.  
  
 _And if you don't love me now  
You will never love me again  
I can still hear you saying  
You would never break the chain_  
  
"YEAH, YOU!" Sören didn't know why he felt so confrontational - he guessed all that nervous energy he was carrying had to go somewhere, and the tailgater was a convenient dump for it. Since the tailgater had a rainbow flag decal on his bumper, Sören went there. "SINCE YOU LIKE RIDING MY ASS SO MUCH, WHY DON'T YOU PUT A RING ON IT AND MARRY IT?"  
  
And then the man was fully turned around, and Sören's lips parted, letting out a gasp when he saw the face of the man he'd seen in his dream set in the Harry Potter world. The man wasn't wearing glasses, but it was otherwise unmistakably him, right down to the green eyes.  
  
Sören heard himself make a high-pitched "meep" like Beaker of The Muppets, ducking back into the car, face on fire, stomach churning. Dooku gave Sören a concerned look and Sören continued to squeak, "Meep meep meep..."  
  
"Sören, are you all right?"  
  
The man with the Audi was walking towards their car, looking like he was about to give Sören a piece of his mind. Sören's heart hammered in his ears. On the one hand this was the man he'd dreamed about, and something told him to stick around, on the other hand he felt humiliated and more than that, he had the resurgence of that feeling that he was going crazy and all of this, everything, was a trick of his mind, hallucinations.  
  
Then a raven swooped down onto the hood of Dooku's Jaguar, croaking, and a second one swooped onto the trunk of the Audi. "What the..." The man ran over to his car and began yelling at the bird in a powerful baritone with a decidedly British accent. "Shoo! Get lost! I don't bloody have time for this!"  
  
 _Oh my god, what the fuck. What in the goddamn FUCK._  
  
Dooku started the windshield wipers to scare away the raven that had landed on his hood, and the raven flew off with a croak that sounded almost like a laugh, feathers flying.  
  
"If you've got your gas, let's go," Sören hissed. "Let's go let's go let's go..."  
  
Dooku shot Sören a look, but he began to pull out, and then they were back on the road. Sören was visibly shaking, breathing harder, head spinning, heart pounding. The Fleetwood Mac song was in its final, soaring refrain.  
  
 _Chain, keep us together  
Running in the shadows  
Chain, keep us together  
Running in the shadows  
Chain, keep us together  
Running in the shadows  
Chain, keep us together  
Running in the shadows  
Chain, keep us together  
Running in the shadows_  
  
"Sören." Dooku's expression had gone from concerned to stern. "Are you all right."  
  
"Nico, I think I'm losing my fucking mind," Sören said honestly.  
  
Dooku's eyebrow shot up. "How so?"  
  
Sören didn't even know how to tell him about the man with the Audi seeming to materialize from one of his dreams _and I blew it because I'm a fucking idiot_. "I think I've been, ah, hallucinating."  
  
"You don't seem like you've been hallucinating, Sören. You seem perfectly lucid to me."  
  
"So I wasn't hallucinating the ravens, just now."  
  
"No." Dooku's brow furrowed. "Pesky little buggers, aren't they? It used to be that you'd see plenty of crows out this way but a raven only rarely... that was indeed a strange incident."  
  
 _Yeah. Now this. ...Thiiiiis. "Incident" would be a mild way of describing what just happened here._  
  
"So no, you weren't hallucinating," Dooku said, looking back over at him. "Whatever gave you that idea? You saw me start the windshield wipers to scare it away. You saw our tailgater yelling..."  
  
"And the man with the Audi? He was British, tall, black hair, green eyes, looked like something out of GQ..."  
  
"Londoner judging by the accent, I don't read GQ so I have no frame of reference, and I didn't look closely enough at the eye color, but he did have short dark hair, yes." Dooku gave Sören another concerned look. "Were you having a flashback of Seth when he started walking towards the car?"  
  
"No." Sören gave a nervous laugh. "No, he doesn't look a thing like Seth, and I didn't feel threatened, really." _This is worse. I was never in love with Seth._ Sören swallowed hard, remembering that dream with the man in it, how real it had felt... how much love he'd felt in the dream... _And apparently Nico saw the guy, so I wasn't hallucinating that into the waking day._  
  
"All right. No, he doesn't look like Seth, and he seems to have far better taste, even if his driving manners leave something to be desired." Dooku's eyes met Sören's. "So... what is it, then?"  
  
"It's just..." Sören shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. My head has felt kinda wonky lately."  
  
"Well, I won't presume to dictate the symptoms of your bipolar to you, you're more aware of what's going on with you than I am, but you seem to be functioning fairly well. Let's do a little test. What's the day today?"  
  
"Saturday."  
  
"The date?"  
  
"November fourth, 2017."  
  
"Where are we right now?"  
  
"Portland, Oregon, United States."  
  
"And who's the president?" Dooku looked like he was sucking a lemon.  
  
"Dorito Mussolini."  
  
Now Dooku's laughter rang out, a big grin on his face, delighted. Sören was pleased that answer pleased him, and managed a small smile. Dooku patted his shoulder. "You're fine."  
  
Sören wasn't so sure.  
  
It didn't take long to get to Sharon's apartment complex in northeast Portland. As Sören grabbed his duffel bag out of Dooku's back seat, Dooku asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to walk up with you, carry your bag?"  
  
"I'm sure, thank you for offering." Sören reached in and touched Dooku's hand for a moment, wishing instantly he hadn't because it was like touching a live wire. "I'll see you Monday?"  
  
"You shall."  
  
"Stay safe."  
  
Sören was wheezing by the time he got up to the fourth floor, made worse because his heart was still beating fast, first from seeing the guy from his dreams and then those damn ravens. The door opened before he could knock - apparently he was wheezing that loudly - and in the doorway of Sharon's apartment stood a very short girl, a full foot shorter than Sören, with flame-red hair in a pixie cut, big grey-blue eyes behind glasses with black rectangular frames, an eyebrow ring and a ring in her septum, wearing a fuzzy white sweater open over a navy camisole, and lighter blue plaid pajama pants. She was on the chubby side, very busty. Sören tried to not stare at her tits.  
  
And then he got a better look at her face. Over the summer he'd painted Sharon's original character Marilwen, a female paladin, based on a small description and what his mind's eye had conjured, and Sharon was beyond thrilled with it.  
  
 _"Holy fucking shit, you got her just right." Sharon took the painting, blinking slowly as she studied it.  
  
"I tried."  
  
"Jesus." Sharon's voice shook. "It's like you took the image right out of my mind, and I didn't give you any references or anything, there was just a very brief description... and here you got her face..."  
  
Sören smiled, feeling that warm glow of pride.  
  
Their eyes met. "No, seriously, Sören... she's been showing up in my dreams for years. When I say you took the image right out of my mind, I really fucking mean that." Sharon looked at the painting again, then at Sören. "That's actually kind of creepy, like... you're psychic or something."_  
  
Sören blinked slowly. His painting had come to life - just like he'd dreamed about the Englishman and there he was in the Audi.  
  
 _I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy..._  
  
"Well, you just gonna feckin' stand there, or are you gonna feckin' come in?" Frankie put a hand on her hip.  
  
Then Sharon was there, wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and jeans and a smug smile. "Hey, Sören." She put a hand on Frankie's shoulder and made a "come in" gesture with her free hand. "Get yer ass in here."  
  
Sören stepped inside, and Frankie closed the door behind him as Sharon pulled Sören into her arms. Sharon kissed his cheek. "Surprise!" She grinned.  
  
Frankie smirked at Sören. "So, when do we feck?"  
  
Sharon facepalmed and laughed so hard she wheezed, belly heaving, turning pink. "MARY FRANCES O'RIORDAN."  
  
Sören giggled and patted Frankie's shoulder, and then on impulse, reached up to stroke her cheek. He could feel himself already hardening, a return of the devil-may-care attitude from the days when he used to be able to have casual sex... but this wasn't casual, really. He felt like he already knew her.  
  
"Sharon has told me a lot about you. I hear you're very talented." Frankie gave him a pointed look, letting Sören know on no uncertain terms that went a couple different ways.  
  
Sören looked at Sharon, then back at Frankie, then back at Sharon, raising an eyebrow. "Has she seen..."  
  
"Yes, I've seen the painting. And Sharon told me she dreamed about me." Frankie nodded.  
  
"I dreamed about you too," Sören said.  
  
Frankie's eyes locked with his. "You want to know what's scary? I've dreamed about you, too."  
  
"She totally fucking has," Sharon said. "I never physically described you to her - the first time I brought up this Scandinavian guy I knew named Sören, and before I showed her the painting, she told me she dreamed about..."  
  
"Scandinavian fella. Tall, about the same height and build as you. Same curls, same face, same beard, same lips... same beautiful brown eyes." Frankie gestured to him. "And here you are."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped. "Am I... am I having this conversation? Is this really real?"  
  
Sharon pinched his ass hard enough to make Sören squeak. "Seems real enough, right?"  
  
Sören found he now had more questions than answers, but now was not the time for questions. And indeed, something in him was singing, relief giving way to elation. And arousal, as Frankie threw her arms around him and pulled him down into a kiss like she'd been waiting her entire life for that kiss. Sören groaned as his cock leapt to attention, and he growled as Frankie groped the hard bulge in his jeans with one hand and began shoving him towards the bedroom with the other.  
  
"Come on," Frankie husked, "let's go make some magic together."

_

Crickets, the moon.

The next day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Crickets, the moon. The next day" is an in-joke between myself and [Detergent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detergent/pseuds/detergent) meaning sex happened making fun of the Shogun miniseries glossing over sex with the sound of crickets and a shot of the moon. There was a F/F/M threesome in the original version of this story but I left it out of the repost for reasons.


	15. Pull Out The Pin

It had been the case more often than not that Monday nights were usually an "off" night for Mark and Sören, where they'd each do their own thing, but after having had Saturday and most of Sunday with Sharon, Sören felt like he needed to make it up to Mark, so on Monday the sixth Mark came over to spend the night at Sören's. After letting Huan off the leash, Mark began bringing in groceries he'd picked up to make dinner, and Sören stayed in the kitchen to put them away till Mark was ready.

One of the items was decidedly not for dinner - Sören pulled out a box of Cheezits.

"Cheezits?" Sören raised an eyebrow at Mark as he walked past.

"You don't remember?" Mark paused and folded his arms. "It's compensation."

It took Sören a moment and then he did, in fact, remember the conversation they'd had on Halloween.

_"Seriously. Sören." Mark gave him a look. "Gimme back my stuff."_

_"I'll think about it. Slave labor isn't very nice..." Sören cackled. "So you should, you know, maybe think about compensating those poor KISS dolls for all their years of performing non-stop."_

_"And what would you propose as back pay, Lord Commander?"_

_Sören thought for a moment. "Cheezits."_

_"...OK."_

Sören walked down to his bedroom and took out Hells the unicorn and the KISS action figures from where they'd been hidden so Mark couldn't steal them back. He came out and presented them solemnly to their rightful owner. He couldn't help grinning when Mark hugged Hells like he actually missed the unicorn - and it was of sentimental value, Sören knew, having given it to him over the summer - and then he laughed as Mark patted each of the KISS action figures on their heads.

As Mark made dinner, Sören put out a bowl of Cheezits and arranged the KISS action figures around the bowl, each of them with their very own Cheezit square, and he put a couple Cheezits in front of Hells like they were unicorn treats. Then he took a picture. Mark saw what Sören was doing and he laughed, shaking his head.

"You are the silliest thing in existence," Mark told him as he stirred the stir-fry going in the skillet.

" _Takk_." Sören beamed.

Their eyes met. "I love you, you know."

"I know." Sören sighed then, and he thought about telling Mark right then and there about being Fëanor. But he didn't.

They were going to Cannon Beach this weekend, and now that Sören knew he wasn't crazy - he'd dreamed of the Englishman and he was a real person, he'd painted Frankie before he knew her - he had decided he was finally going to take the risk and tell Mark this weekend, hoping that the romantic getaway would help make dropping the bomb a bit less stressful than it would be otherwise.

And even if best-case scenario Mark took it well, it was a gamechanger enough that Sören felt he needed a few last days for things to be normal.

_Or as "normal" as it gets around here._ Sören took another picture with Hells putting his face right in the bowl of Cheezits.

_

On Thursday, the night before Sören and Mark would be leaving for their weekend at Cannon Beach, Sören went to Mark's and decided to check on the KISS action figures. He'd sent Mark off with the doll-sized chairs and bathtub he'd bought for them so they could "take breaks"... but sure enough, the KISS action figures were all in their upright poses, looking like they were performing, and likely had been non-stop since they were returned to Mark - the doll furniture was not on the display shelf or anywhere to be seen.

When Sören went with Mark to walk Huan, he said, "I thought I told you to let those poor KISS dolls take a break now and again."

Mark threw his head back and laughed. "Sören, they're action figures. They don't need to take breaks."

Sören pretended to be indignant. "You slavemonger. I demand justice for your KISS dolls!"

Mark laughed harder. "People are dying, Sören."

Sören tried not to laugh, having to keep the act of righteous anger to play the game. "Yes, like poor KISS, if you keep working them like that. Don't you love KISS? Wouldn't you like them to live as long as Keith Richards is going to? Because he's, like, immortal. If you don't let them take breaks to have sex and do drugs like Keith Richards did, how do you expect them to keep entertaining you for eternity?"

And then Sören knew from the look in Mark's eyes that he'd hit a nerve without meaning to - the topic of Mark's immortality and Sören's mortality was still a sore spot for Mark, who was tired of having to bury mortal partners. And Sören felt dread rising in the pit of his stomach about telling Mark he was Fëanor, this weekend, as planned - now with a new concern. Even if best-case scenario he was believed, if their desire for each other won out over the taboo against incest, and Maglor did not find the mortal, human Sören an inferior, offensive substitute for the glory of the High King of the Noldor in his prime, now Sören worried that the nature of him being mortal in the first place, and with a probable life expectancy in his fifties with the medication he was on, would be too painful for Maglor to endure, the loss of his father a second time. Sören feared that Mark would go back on his word to allow Sören at least a year - two years, with Huan's service dog training - to decide whether or not he wanted to make the sacrifice of coming along with Mark on his necessary wandering of the Earth, changing name and location at least once a decade to not be exposed as an immortal who didn't age. Sören feared that Mark would just leave suddenly, cutting himself off before he could get more attached, so he wouldn't have to witness a second death of Fëanor.

That thought terrified Sören. He felt like he'd hit a crossroads, and he was once again leaning in the direction of not telling him. Sören felt he was risking everything, and not just for himself, but for Mark - that Mark would end up alone again, even more embittered than before. That maybe Mark, in his grief and hopelessness at having lost his father again - walked away from his father, regretting it even as he couldn't bear the alternative - would kill himself, and the thought of Maglor passing from the world hurt, not just because Sören loved him so much, but the death of the Song...

But he wasn't crazy. He knew that now. This was real. There was no escaping it. If he didn't say something and Mark eventually figured out he was holding back, that could cause problems too.

Sören took a few deep breaths, trying to rein in his panic. Huan gave a little whimper of concern, as if he could sense the sudden change in Mark and Sören's moods. Sören reached out to take Mark's free hand and Mark squeezed.

"I'm sorry," Sören said. "I shouldn't have made that joke about immortality, I wasn't -"

"It's fine, Sören." Mark smiled but the smile did not meet his eyes, and Sören knew it wasn't fine at all.

Sören sighed. "I love you," he said simply.

"I love you too."

But once they got in from their walk, no sooner had they taken their boots off, than Mark slammed Sören up against the wall and kissed him passionately. Sören moaned into the kiss and kissed him back, playing with the flood of Mark's hair as it fell unglamoured, gasping as he always did when he looked at the truth of him - no matter how many times he'd seen Mark unglamour himself when he got in, it would still be breathtaking to him each and every time, just like a sunrise or sunset could captivate him no matter how many times he'd seen them.

Mark kissed him again, more hungrily than before, and Sören let out a whimper as he felt the hard-on in Mark's jeans, pressed against him. "What's all this for?" Sören asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, even though he knew Mark didn't need an excuse to be horny. _Like father, like son._

"You made a joke earlier about how sex and drugs makes Keith Richards immortal." Mark smirked back. "We better get to work on the sex part."

_If only. I would make love to you for eternity and never tire of it, my Kanafinwë. You, Fingolfin, Finarfin - glorious._ But despite that ache, Sören couldn't help grinning at the mischief in Mark's eyes. He loved it when this playful side of Maglor came out - Maglor needed it, so badly, and it had become Sören's mission to bring it out of him.

Mark and Sören undressed each other on the way to the bedroom. Mark got out the collar and leash right away. "Kneel," he said.

Sören did.

"Good boy," Mark whispered once the leash was on Sören, and gave it a tug to pull Sören closer to him as he stepped forward and shoved his cock in Sören's mouth.

Sören sucked him slowly, worshipful. Mark stroked Sören's face with his free hand, toying with the leash in the other. Mark groaned as Sören's mouth worked its magic, letting out a louder groan when Sören began to rub his tongue as he sucked, kissing Mark's cock as much as he could.

After a few minutes Sören took Mark's cock out of his mouth and held it, pet it, as he gave it some teasing looks. "Is that good?"

Mark nodded with a little catch in his breath, a shiver as Sören's tongue brushed the frenulum. "So good, baby."

"Good. I like pleasing you."

"It's good to see someone who loves their work." Mark gave him a lazy grin. "And you'll be putting in plenty of work this evening."

"Oh, will I now?" Sören's tongue rubbed the slit of Mark's cock.

Mark moaned, and then he said, "You called me a slavemonger." Then he pulled the leash hard and shoved his cock back in Sören's mouth, a fierce, almost angry look on his face that sent a shiver down Sören's spine. "If you don't want my KISS action figures to rock and roll all night... I guess you'll be picking up the slack." He grinned again.

After sucking Mark for another couple of minutes - harder and faster this time, making Mark moan louder - Sören couldn't resist being a brat. He took Mark's cock out of his mouth and whispered, "So you have sex with your KISS dolls, then? That's pretty kinky, Mark."

"You know..."

"Can one fit up there?" Sören raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help what came out of his mouth next, giggling. "Two?"

"OK, you fucking brat, no, I do not have sex with my KISS dolls." Mark glared again. "Action figures," he quickly corrected himself.

"No, you were right the first -"

Mark grabbed the leash hard, yanking Sören to his feet.

"Time," Sören finished.

Mark marched Sören over to the bed. He took Sören over his knee and slapped Sören's ass, hard. Sören's cock was already standing at attention and now it throbbed, jolted, as the pleasure-pain of the sharp slap radiated through his body. Sören let out a moan and wiggled his ass, rubbed against Mark's thigh.

"Brat," Mark rasped, and spanked Sören again. And again. He tenderly, sensually rubbed Sören's stinging ass, making Sören whimper as his hole twitched around the plug inside him, and then Sören let out a cry when Mark's hand came down once more, even harder this time. "Naughty." Slap. "Little." Slap. "Brat." Slap.

"Oh god." Sören was trembling, cock twinging, needing. "Please, fuck me..."

"You think I'm going to give you what you want right away, you little brat?" Mark slapped Sören's ass again, and again.

Sören whimpered, rubbing against Mark harder.

Mark gave Sören's ass a few more slaps, and then he was done, putting Sören on the bed on his stomach. He rubbed Sören's red, sore ass cheeks to soothe them, fingers straying every now and again to tease around the rim of his opening. When Mark pulled out the plug in Sören's ass, Sören moaned at the pop it made, and Mark groaned, too. Then Sören screamed as Mark's tongue brushed around the rim of his channel, and howled into the pillows, sobbing as Mark's tongue speared him.

Mark's tongue was wicked, taking Sören to the edge of heaven and just leaving him there, orgasm glimmering just beyond reach, Sören's entire body screaming for release. Mark ate him hungrily, growling into him, every now and again pulling his tongue out to spit into Sören's hole and give more lubrication, and that feeling of something shooting into him, a promise - a tease - of what was to come later.

At last Mark stopped licking inside Sören. He got on the bed beside Sören, lay back, and pulled on the leash, gesturing for Sören to climb on top of him. Sören did and their hard cocks bumped up together, the two of them kissing as their cocks rubbed, Mark's arms around Sören, Mark's hand continuing to hold the leash. Their tongues licked together between kisses, which Sören loved, and when Mark began to kiss and lick his way down Sören's neck and throat, he collected the precum flowing from both their cocks and shoved his fingers in Sören's mouth. Sören sucked his fingers greedily, cock and hole both throbbing with need, want, longing, craving.

"Please," Sören husked when Mark withdrew his fingers.

Mark got the lube, readied them both, and guided his cock to Sören's waiting passage, both of them groaning as Sören sank down. Then Mark held the leash, tugged on it, and Sören began to ride, Mark watching him with heat in his eyes.

"You may be a brat," Mark purred, his free hand playing with Sören's pierced nipples, "but you're a damn good ride."

Sören grinned. He reached down to play with Mark's nipples, feeling a sense of victory as Mark gave a cry, shivered beneath his touch. "I love to drive you crazy."

"That you do," Mark rasped, and then he grabbed Sören's hips and began to pound into him, making Sören ride him like a wild bull. Sören howled and grabbed onto the headboard for dear life, continuing to work his hips and ass even as Mark was the one taking control of the fuck now. "You make me crazy, Sören." He looked up at his lover with feverish, wild eyes. Hungry. "You're my addiction. My obsession." He pulled Sören down into a deep kiss that left them both breathless. "My consuming fire."

Sören put a hand on Mark's heart, those words touching him on the raw. _If only you knew, Maglor._

It felt almost like blasphemy to keep this from him, now. And he knew, as he surrendered to Mark's passion, Mark's fire feeding his fire, what he had to do this weekend. The blazing glory of dominant-and-submissive sex - trust, surrender, that feeling of being owned, claimed - was burning down every obstacle, making the path all too clear.

_

On Friday morning, when Mark was in the bathroom getting ready for school, Sören took Hells and Mark's KISS action figures and shoved them in his duffel bag.

On break that afternoon, Sören went with Karen to the same store where he'd bought the Halloween costumes for the action figures. This time he bought more "Malibu Ken" outfits that seemed proper for a beach getaway, and he also bought a miniature beach ball.

After school it was Mark who drove Sören from campus to Mark's house to collect their things and Snúður, putting him in the cat carrier, and they went to Lebanon to collect Huan from service dog training, and then hit the road, going north by northwest. Snúður yowled in protest the first few minutes on I-5, but finally calmed down and took a nap. Meanwhile Huan had that happy-go-lucky attitude dogs tended to have about trips, a smile on his face, tongue lolling.

Mark put on hair metal for the close to three-hour drive. They stopped at their cabin to drop off their bags and pets, and then Mark took a drive into town so they could have a late dinner, going to an Italian restaurant as a safe bet. Sören and Mark snuggled together in their cozy booth, feeding each other pizza, and all seemed right with the world for a little while.

When they got back to the cabin, Mark wanted to go for a walk along the beach, and they took Huan. The cozy, life-is-good feeling from the restaurant took on a sharp tinge of melancholy in the November night, a damp chill in the air as they walked Huan along the shore at low tide, beneath the last quarter moon. A breeze stirred Mark's hair, and Sören had to double-take, as it seemed like Mark's glamour wasn't holding up as much, and then it seemed as he looked out to sea that he was looking at something very far away, a quiet mask hiding intense emotions, as if he could sense the foreboding that Sören was feeling, the weight of the knowledge Sören carried that this was their last night to be "normal" and by this same time tomorrow, Sören would play his hand.

Sören was terrified.

But he was not so terrified to shy away from Mark when they got back in the cabin and showered together after a long day and a long drive, the hot shower nice after the cold walk on the beach. Nicer still for them to hold each other and kiss under the spray, cocks rubbing together, with Mark at last taking both their cocks into his fist and stroking them to a mutual climax, cock spurting on cock, the erotic sight making Sören come even harder than usual, having to steady himself on the shower wall to not fall over as his body shook.

_Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, seed of my seed._ The ache, wishing he could acknowledge that out loud in a moment like this, as they came down from their climax, kissing, as they collected their mingled seed and sucked it from each other's fingers and kissed some more.

_Soon._

After the intense fucking until late last night, and the long trip, neither of them were up for sexual acrobatics this evening, but there was something to be said about slow, sweet, languid lovemaking as well. After their taste in the shower, Sören and Mark wanted more and settled into a sixty-nine, lovingly sucking each other's cocks, rimming each other's passages, teasing their way to orgasm. When they came together, they took each other's hands, and it felt so intimate, so close, that it brought tears to Sören's eyes, tears that flowed silently when Mark pulled Sören to his chest, holding him tight, snuggled safe and warm under the blankets, with the cat and dog joining them on the bed. Laying there tangled up together in that sweet, cozy nest, Sören almost told him then. Almost.

_

In the middle of the night Sören was awakened by a cold spot in the bed. He got up, calling out for Mark, and Mark wasn't in the cabin, but then he heard guitar outside.

Mark was sitting on a blanket in the sand, playing "Stairway to Heaven", looking out at the waves. Sören got teared up as he thought of his mamma, and Miriel before her, and how that spectre of death - of loss - had hung over him his entire life. From a young age, Fëanor became convinced by Finwë that he was cursed, and Fëanor had thought later in life that curse was to lose everyone he loved, just as he'd lost his mother. Sören had stayed with Seth after the first few red flags because at least he wasn't alone, though eventually he'd been trapped in the relationship, especially when Seth forced his way into living in Sören's home for about a month. Sören was terrified of losing Mark, he was terrified of losing Dooku and Karen as friends, he'd learned to keep people at an arm's length in this lifetime when he'd lost friends as a kid - no longer wanting to play or hang out with him because associating with him brought the same sort of bullying upon them that Sören was experiencing - and later, when his relationship with his brother Dag was strained with them living together. Einar and Katrín had made Sören feel like he was nobody special at all, like he didn't matter, the bullies in school reinforced that, and Sören still had a hard time trusting that maybe there were people in this world who cared.

Mark's crystalline tenor rang out

_And it's whispered that soon  
If we all call the tune  
Then the piper will lead us to reason  
And a new day will dawn  
For those who stand long  
And the forests will echo with laughter_

It was the middle of the night, the darkest hour before the dawn. It was time for a new day. A new chapter in their life.

Sören waited for the song to be done, and when it was over, he came forward and put his hand on Mark's shoulder. "Macalaurë. I am your father."


	16. Deeper Understanding

Mark got very quiet. Seconds became minutes, and Sören felt like screaming, waiting for a response from Mark - there wasn't even a tell with his expression, it was as neutral as if Sören had said nothing at all.  
  
And then at last, Mark said, "Hi Your Father, I'm Maglor."  
  
Sören blinked slowly. He felt his head tilting. He didn't know what kind of response he was expecting, but it was definitely not that. And then he felt his own reaction bubbling to the surface. "Did you... just... seriously... answer... my confession of being your father reborn... with a dad joke."  
  
Mark nodded. "Proud of me?" He grinned, mischief in his eyes.  
  
Sören almost pounced on Mark, drawing him into the tightest hug he could, as tight as his heart, which he felt could burst from the elation that Mark hadn't reacted badly. He found himself raining kisses over Mark's face, then claiming his mouth and kissing him as deeply and fiercely as if he were claiming Mark's soul itself. Mark returned fire for fire, tongues teasing, playing, seducing. But through the fire there was rain - Sören felt Mark tremble against him, and start to heave, and when they pulled apart, breathless, Sören saw that Mark was crying, silently. Sören grabbed him and started kissing up his face again, kissing his tears, and now the crying wasn't silent, Mark letting out a keening wail that sounded like it had come from the depths of some part of hell where the tortures were the most severe. It brought tears to Sören's own eyes as well.  
  
"Have I upset you?" Sören's heart sank, wondering now if the joke had been Mark's immediate way of coping with the horror of disappointment and now came the crushing weight of it. "I'm so sorry. I... I couldn't keep silent anymore, I felt like it was lying to you if I kept saying nothing about it, but I know I'm trash, compared to what I used to -"  
  
Mark's eyes were angry now. "Adar, please."  
  
Sören's head snapped back. His jaw dropped, and his breath exploded out of him in a sharp exhale. "You... called me... Adar..."  
  
"Yes, because that is what you are."  
  
"So you believe me? And... and it doesn't bother you..."  
  
"Sören, I've known who you are for months, and you don't know how badly I've been wanting this moment to get here." Now it was Mark's turn to pull Sören into his arms, hold him close and tight. He stroked Sören's face, still continuing to cry, and the love in Mark's eyes made Sören sob now, making inhuman noises. He kissed Sören's brow and then he gave Sören another stern look. "We're going to have a talk - obviously - and I'm going to start it off by saying this. Do not, _do not_ , DO NOT call yourself trash in front of me again. Do not make apologies for who you are now, compared to what you were a long time ago."  
  
"But..." Sören sniffled. He didn't understand. "I mean... you wanted Fëanor, if my memories are true. You desired him. I don't look a thing like him -"  
  
"Adar, are you insinuating that I'm so shallow and superficial to be hung up on looks?" Mark pulled back from Sören and folded his arms, looking offended.  
  
"Well, I mean, no, but -"  
  
"If it's a no, there is no but," Mark said, his voice almost a growl. "Listen to me, Sören. I'm not going to lie to you. Yes, back in the day, Fëanor was the most gorgeous being to ever walk the face of the Earth. One would have to be utterly blind or genuinely sexless to not desire his beauty. No, you do not look the same as my father, but trying to compare then and now is grossly unfair. It's like saying Paris isn't gorgeous because megalithic era France was lush and beautiful. Not to mention it's goddamn ridiculous. Have you seen yourself? You're fucking delicious. If Fëanor and Fingolfin were the two sexiest things in creation, you're still right up there, as far as I'm concerned. It's as if when you re-entered the plane of existence, you fashioned your spirit's vessel into the most gorgeous mortal form you possibly could have, as an act of defiance to the Valar. In fact, probably not even 'as if', I'd be willing to bet money that's actually what happened. And I only bet on sure things."  
  
Sören wondered about that for a moment, and it felt intuitively right. He then wondered if his brothers had chosen the same approach, and the answer came from his gut: _no, they would take the form that_ you _would find the most gorgeous and sexy, what was most pleasing to_ you, _with_ your _tastes in this life._  
  
Sören chewed on that. He was still crying, touched by Mark's words. Mark took Sören's hand and kissed it. Mark wasn't done yet. "Fëanor's beauty, though, wasn't just who he was on the outside. It was here." Mark brought Sören's hand to his heart, covered it with his bad hand. "He burned. People were drawn to that fire, irresistibly. When his fire shined upon someone, it made them beautiful too, bringing out the best in them, bringing out their magic, their sparkle, the gem of their spirit. He could see the beauty and goodness in everyone, the wonders of the world that others so often overlooked, even back then when magic was everywhere. Perhaps, especially back then when magic was everywhere, and most of us took it for granted. Fëanor was always shining, sparkling, making the world better just by being in it. You have that same fire in you, regardless of what you look like. When I started to see it, it scared _the shit_ out of me."  
  
"You didn't know right away."  
  
"No, but it didn't take me all that long to start suspecting, when we were in Sausalito. Things like - you mentioning the dreams you had of burning to death, at such a young age. The quality of your art, which is like..." Mark gestured, searching for the right word. "Living magical artifacts. Things kept adding up and it stared me in the face. I dared not hope, but... here you are. I have my father again."  
  
There was a clap of thunder then, the sea choppy. They made it to the beachside cabin just as the rain hit. Huan and Snúður made noises as they stepped inside as if to protest that their people would be out in that sort of weather. There was enough of a chill in the air that Mark decided to put on the cabin's gas fireplace, and make them hot chocolate. They curled up in front of the fireplace together, sharing a fleece blanket and mugs of hot cocoa, a nice cozy ambiance to reinforce the feeling of coming home... the Flame as hearth.  
  
"When did you know, Sören?" Mark's voice was husky with emotion.  
  
"When I started reading _The Silmarillion_ \- my cousin sent me a copy with the care package from Iceland, you know the one with the Applesin and the frog candies and the licorice..."  
  
"Yes, I remember." Mark smirked. "The same copy of _The Silmarillion_ that you threw at me when you proceeded to rage at me like a drunk Viking."  
  
Sören facepalmed and snickered. "Oh god."  
  
"That reaction, by the way, was so very Fëanor of you. It was endearing." Then Mark sighed. "So you've known since August and you didn't tell me until now, and it is now November."  
  
Sören sighed deeply. "Am I in trouble?"  
  
"Sören, _you are trouble_." Mark gave him a look. "Now, as far as whether or not you're in trouble for not telling me, well... not necessarily, but I want to know what possessed you to think that sitting on that info and saying nothing for three months was a good idea."  
  
"It was a lot of things, starting with what I told you out there on the beach," Sören said. "I felt like an inadequate substitute for what was taken away from you. Like... 'here's your consolation prize, Discount Fëanor, the cheap Wal-Mart knockoff version of Fëanor, like what Doctor Thunder is to Doctor Pepper.'"  
  
"Oh, _Ada_."  
  
"I felt like it was going to be such a disappointment to you, that you'd get disgusted and leave. And... even without that. Do you know what _big fucking brass balls_ it takes to claim to be, what I'm claiming? And I'm coming up against a history of people telling me I'm worthless, nobody, no good. I'm coming up against a mental health diagnosis where some of the classic textbook symptoms include 'delusions of grandeur' and 'magical thinking'. Not that everyone with bipolar disorder has these symptoms, necessarily, they're only a couple that could manifest from a long laundry list. But that, too, is part of it. I've not only been hearing from various people what a piece of shit I am, and I've seen in my very own life that I have a harder time with things than a lot of people, I was a real trainwreck in my twenties, but if I dare challenge any of that shittiness and say 'no, I was somebody once', I have to watch out and make sure it's not my mental illness talking. So it's taken me a lot to even put on the big brass balls it takes to say 'I am Fëanor, reborn', and keep pushing them against the wall of disbelief built up from the entire world naysaying me, it feels like, and insist 'fuck you, yes, this is who I am', and knock that wall down enough to tell you."  
  
"And from where I sit," Mark said, taking Sören's free hand and squeezing it, "that, too, is proof you are who and what you claim to be."  
  
The tears came on again. Sören drank his hot cocoa, trying to calm his nerves. "There's still more."  
  
"I imagine so. I wouldn't think you'd keep something from me this long unless you had damn good reason, or at least you thought you did."  
  
"I could say the same about you." Sören gave him a pointed look as he sipped his cocoa. "You didn't tell me you knew, either."  
  
"No, I didn't. And I had reasons for that, but we'll... get to that."  
  
Sören let his thoughts percolate as he finished his hot cocoa. Finally he said, "I worried that the memories I had were false. I worried about, you know... the incest thing, if my memories weren't legit, you thinking I was some kind of sick fuck."  
  
Mark took a deep breath and he said, "You've hit the nail on the head of why I didn't tell you, or at least most of it. We were consenting adults, you didn't touch me a day before I was of age, but I know the taboo in human society against incest is very great, and even with my own people, there was a taboo, it's just that our family defied it. We were... something more. Fëanor said that we could become gods. Fëanor said, at least a couple times, that he thought we had once been gods, and Eru destroyed us and remade us as something less powerful, but I always thought that was crazy talk, you know, sorry, Ada, I know that's a sore spot for you and I don't mean to offend, but Fëanor said this when he was having his forge binges, holed up in there for weeks at a time not eating or sleeping much, obsessed with, consumed by one project or another. Creative madness, I thought - which is something I myself understood, I was composing a lot more back then, I would disappear into the Song just like he'd disappear into the Flame. But now, when I look back on everything..." Mark shuddered, looking across the room like he was looking at something very far away, a "there" that was not "there" anymore, and it brought chills to Sören's own spine.  
  
Then Sören continued his litany of why he hadn't said anything before now. As much as it hurt to lay these insecurities bare, it was also freeing to make the arguments against himself and have Mark rip them apart. A giant weight was being lifted from his shoulders. "There's another thing that I think has been at the back of my head, keeping me from telling you, that I haven't been quite able to articulate before now, but now I've found my words." He cupped Mark's chin in his hand and met his eyes. "It's a fear that the only reason why you love me is because of who I was back then. I get it that there are things in me you see that are obvious signs this is your father, reborn. That this is Fëanor, sitting in front of you. And I'm glad you can see that, and that it can offer you some comfort... a bit of hope, again."  
  
"It does, very much." Mark took Sören's hand and kissed it, again.  
  
"But... I'm also Sören Sigurðsson, now. For better or for worse, I have been reborn. I may be continuing Fëanor's saga, but I'm also doing it in this life. I am not exactly the same as I once was. Even if there is some greater purpose or greater destiny, some thing for me to accomplish while I'm here - and this, too, has been why I haven't said anything, because saying it means shit gets real, and I'm scared because it's a lot of unknowns and I'm not ready, I don't think I'll ever be ready to make the jump from where I am now to where... he... was... being beaten and shaped in the forge of wyrd, as Norse mythology calls it. Even if that's the case, it's not 'good enough' for me to simply teach art in a college town in Oregon, be with you, find the rest of our family if they're out there... I'm still me. There is no going back, fully, to what was. I can't do that. And as importantly, I _won't_ do that. Your father wouldn't want me to obliterate what I am now to bring him back. But you have to understand this means that sometimes, I'm not going to say or do what you think Fëanor should have said or done. I'm going to do only what I can do, as I am, the sum of the life I've lived, here and now. And hopefully that's going to be OK with you. But as happy as I am to give you back your father, there's a part of me that isn't OK with the idea that if I wasn't your father, if I was just this random guy from Iceland who happened to have some things that reminded you of him but didn't bear his soul, you wouldn't be into me."  
  
"OK, so," Mark gave Sören a stern look. "You will recall that I've told you I've spent more time living among mortals than I have among my own kind."  
  
"I do."  
  
"You notice I'm fine with you calling me Mark, and prefer you default to that."  
  
"I do."  
  
"It's not just because you're less likely to slip and call me Maglor in public in front of 'normals' if you're calling me Mark most of the time, though that's some of it, a lot of it. It's because, well.. I haven't been reborn as mortal, obviously, as you know, but I've changed from what I used to be, as well. I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm uncomfortable with being Macalaurë Fëanorion - not at all, I'm proud of who I am, I will not deny who I am and what I am and where I come from. I am Quendi. I am one of the Noldor. I have kept myself alive all this time to keep alive the memory of my family, their part of the Song. It is my greatest wish to be reunited with my family someday, somehow. But I am also Mark Lowry, these days, the guy who teaches music theory at a university and likes hair metal and had an embarrassing glam rock phase where I likely contributed to the hole in the ozone layer with hairspray, and I have KISS dolls, and this one time I quoted Jay-Z in front of you. That's also me. It's not an act I put on to live among humans without getting killed, it's genuinely what I've become. My life is not glamorous anymore. Frankly I've had enough fucking adventure to last me a lifetime, I want things to be nice and stable, like people I love, you know, not dying in single combat or getting killed by Balrogs. Shit like that."  
  
"I don't know whether to laugh or cry at your phrasing."  
  
Mark's lips quirked. "Both, probably."  
  
They hugged each other, then Mark went on, "And... as part of that 'living among humans' thing, well, I've developed a fondness for them. If I hadn't, you would have seen me turn serial killer, or genocidal warmonger. Used what Power I have to exterminate humans like vermin. I won't deny that there are some humans I'd like to expunge from the gene pool, and there are still things some humans do that are very alien to me, like why anyone would smoke cigarettes, for example. But anyway... I was celibate for a long time before you entered the picture, but I haven't been celibate all those thousands of years I've been wandering. I've had a lot of mortal lovers, over the ages, both male and female - mostly male, but a few women. I've buried partners, and it hurts every time, and I still remember each one. You're the first reborn Elf I've seen since I left Valinor. If someone had to be the reincarnation of So-and-So for me to love them, I sure as hell wouldn't have the kind of history I do. When I realized I was in love with you in Sausalito, I suspected, strongly, that you were my father reborn, but I didn't know for sure - that certainty came a bit later. So as a very long, roundabout way of answering your concern, if you were _just_ Sören Sigurðsson, and not also Fëanor Finwion, I would still love you. I would still want to be with you."  
  
"Fair." Sören let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."  
  
"And now I'm going to say something that may not sit well with you, but needs to be said anyway. As much as I loved my father - still love my father - I'm not a fan of the idea of 'we have to be together because we were together in a past life'. I certainly think that having a past life connection can add fuel to the fire of attraction... but that fire has to be there to begin with. True love cannot be compelled or forced. I love the spirit of fire in you, Fëanor, but I also love Sören. Our relationship stands or falls on the basis of who we are now, meeting once again, falling in love with each other all over again, for the same reasons as before and new ones. I am nobody's slave, and I will not be anyone's master. We are not in this relationship out of compulsion from the past, enslaving us to a future we don't really want... we are together because we love each other as we are now."  
  
"Yes." Sören nodded, tears falling harder than before, relief flooding him faster, overwhelming him. "That's it, exactly."  
  
"And you, Sören..." Mark stroked Sören's cheek. "You are more precious to me now than you ever were, because Fëanor was lost and he is found again... but also, I see you as you are now, the flame in you shining brightly through all of the darkness and horror you've known in this frail, mortal life, the kindness and decency and courage and laughter and wonder which is all the more remarkable for rising up in a world where the magic is dying, the Music is dying, and the world needs people like you to bring it back. I am not disappointed with you at all, I do not find you an inferior substitute for what was. I am proud to have you stand at my side, as strong as you are, as bright and beautiful as you are... inside and out." He leaned in and kissed Sören's cheek. "I love you."  
  
"I love you, Mark. Maglor. Macalaurë. Kanafinwë. My Song." Sören kissed his mouth, a soft, sweet lingering kiss that held the promise of more. "And now that we've cleared the air..."  
  
"Yes. Tonight is not a night for words." Mark kissed Sören back, harder.  
  
Sören shoved Mark down against the faux bearskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace and began to pull up his T-shirt, then as Mark pulled it off Sören fumbled with his jeans. Mark took those down and yanked off Sören's T-shirt, unbuttoned and unzipped Sören's jeans. Their underwear slid to the floor, hard cocks springing free. Sören reached for the travel-sized lubricant he habitually carried in his jeans, but Mark stopped him before he could apply it.  
  
"I want to taste you first," Mark husked.  
  
"Only if I can taste you too."  
  
Mark smirked. "We'll get there."  
  
Mark rolled Sören onto his back. He spent a long time making love to Sören's entire body, kissing, licking, nibbling, caressing, rubbing, teasing. His lips and tongue and fingers explored with a sensuality like never before, Sören melting deeper and deeper, body aching, almost singing, screaming, for release, yet ever so content to be lost in Mark's expression of love through his touch. It was as if Mark had taken what Sören had said about his dream of them once having been gods, before the Noldor were the Noldor, and he was worshiping Sören now with reverence and awe, with transcendent, all-consuming ecstatic devotion. He made the course of Sören's entire body several times over, down and up and down again, both the back and the front of him, with Sören more and more exquisitely sensitized with each fresh wave of fire.  
  
Mark did avoid Sören's cock and ass, as if he knew he'd bring Sören off too soon. But Mark brought Sören dangerously close to orgasm several times as he lapped, suckled, and stroked Sören's nipples - he couldn't ever remember them being so hard, so swollen. It was Sören's nipples that Mark feasted on one last time before he finally sat up, breathing hard, eyes blazing with hunger for more.  
  
Sören gave Mark the same treatment, loving him all over, thrilling to every moan and sigh and gasp and growl as Sören honored the beauty of his hard, sleek body, the Noldorin splendor, as close to perfection as Sören had ever seen. It was lust, to be sure, but it was also love, wanting to give affection, comfort, pleasure to his beautiful songbird, to give him all the passion he could stand, the passion he was made for. "Not alone anymore," Sören whispered between kisses, fingers brushing over Mark's flesh in patterns like Tengwar, like Norse runes, as if he were painting him to life, conjuring him. "You have me, as long as you want me. You have this."  
  
And at last Mark whispered, "Ada."  
  
Sören looked up and their eyes met. Mark took Sören into his arms. "Ada, let me taste you. Drink you. Please."  
  
They settled into a sixty-nine position, laying at each other's sides. Their hands continued to roam over what flesh they could reach as they sucked each other's cocks, tongued each other's openings, took cocks back into their mouths to suck harder and faster than before, devouring until they spilled their seed together, drank as if it were holy wine, as if this were a sacrament of the union of Flame and Song.  
  
It was a release, a powerful one, but they were not yet sated. Sören didn't know if he ever would be, feeling the energy coursing through him - different than before, bright and sparkling, as if the confession of the truest, deepest nature of their bond had awakened a magic within them. It had never been enough, back then, the two making love for hours, each release seeming to only make them need more, crave another round of the delicious passion that sent them flying, the journey of sex as good as the destination of orgasm. "I could eat you alive," Sören whispered between fierce, hot kisses. "Tear you apart, put you back together again to tear asunder once more."  
  
"Yes, Ada. Take me."  
  
It was time for the lube. Sören readied them both, and pushed into Mark, laying on his back, a look of ecstasy on his face as Sören filled him, as if he'd been waiting for this his entire life and it was far better than the expectation. Sören went slowly at first, overcome by emotion, wanting to stay in this place of deep, deep love, where all that mattered in the world was this, the two of them rediscovering paradise lost with their bodies, their hearts. But soon enough Mark urged him on faster, harder, wanting to be fucked, his need even more savage than usual, too long waiting, needing. Sören gave it to him, Mark's legs propped up on his shoulders, balls smacking against him fast and furious as he drove into him, hearing himself growl, losing himself in the sweet silken heat of Mark wrapped around him, those magnificent cries, the beautiful face rapt in passion...  
  
Mark came with a shout that seemed to echo across space and time. Sören came a few thrusts later, giving a deep roar like a victorious beast that had conquered its prey. Mark cried out again as he let loose another blast of his seed over Sören's body, and Sören collected it with his fingers, tasted it, the most perfect taste in the world.  
  
It was Sören's turn now. He stayed on top of Mark but this time Mark was inside him and Sören rode. The burning fireplace and the intense, wild ride made them both sweat, and Mark's body glistening just drove Sören wilder, bouncing away on top of him, howling, whimpering, panting, as animal as he was divine in those moments. When Sören climaxed, Mark soon followed, and the feeling of Mark spending into him, claiming him, was almost too much to bear, bringing tears to Sören's eyes.  
  
Still not enough. Mark pulled out, and now he was astride Sören, riding Sören's cock with the same abandon that Sören had ridden him, shivering as Sören's fingers and palms played over him, needing to touch, feel, have, hold. When Mark got close to climax, giving cries that were almost sobbing in their desperate need to come, yet also needing to never stop this union of their bodies, Sören reached to play with Mark's cock, working it vigorously in time with Mark's hips and ass, his own thrusts into Mark, balls slapping against him once more. Mark had a loud, messy orgasm, so utterly debauched that it made Sören come hard too, screaming as he shot into the contracting walls, pulsing so sweetly.  
  
They still weren't done. Now Sören was on all fours, face down, ass up, and Mark took him from behind, slamming into him.  
  
"I love it when you're like this," Mark rasped.  
  
"I love the way you fuck me." Sören shivered as Mark leaned in and began kissing the back of Sören's neck, his shoulder.  
  
Mark's teeth sank into the back of that sweet spot where neck and shoulder met, even sweeter from the back, Sören's entire body breaking out in gooseflesh, cock throbbing urgently as he heard himself let out a broken cry. "Oh god," Sören sobbed. "Oh god... ohgodohgodohgod, Mark. _Mark_. Maglor..."  
  
"Yes." Mark growled through clenched teeth. He licked the same spot where his teeth had been, making Sören gasp and cry out again, trembling against him. "You're mine."  
  
"God, yes..."  
  
"Mine. My Sören. My Fëanor. Past, present, future. _Mine_."  
  
"Yes... _yes_..."  
  
"Give into me," Mark demanded, nibbling on Sören's neck and shoulder again. "Come for me. Cry out for me. I want to hear you shout into the Song. Set fire to the Song, Adar."  
  
A deep, primal, guttural sound began to rise in Sören, louder and louder, erupting like a volcano as his orgasm took him, Sören's mind's eye exploding with color and light, flowers blooming, stars bursting, galaxies spiraling up and out from dust. There was white light searing him like a nuclear blast, pleasure so great he thought he could die from it, and he was crying out over and over again, weeping, roaring, sounds that were ugly and beautiful all at once. He felt Mark's seed fill him again, seeming to pour endlessly, Mark's own cries wrapping around his. Mark's chest was on his back, Mark's arms holding him tight as they shook together, the final act of what had been a magnificent performance.  
  
There might yet be more to come over Saturday and Sunday, but for now they needed to rest. The sun was rising.


	17. The Fog

They slept in most of Saturday, and after they got up and had been up for awhile, they had Geek food delivered to the cabin. They fed each other playfully, sensually, and cuddled on the couch, watching _Casablanca_. Later, they went for a walk on the beach. After the rain and thunder late last night - and the threat of more - the beach was foggy, but to Sören it was still beautiful in a haunting, melancholy way, especially when the sun began to set, making the mists glow.  
  
Mark had brought his guitar, and for awhile he just sat, looking out at the waves and beyond them. At last he picked up his guitar and began to play, an old song by Queensryche.  
  
 _We see the light  
Of those who find  
A world has passed them by  
Too late to save a dream that's growing cold  
  
We realize  
That fate must hide  
Its face from those who try  
To see the distant signs of unforetold  
  
Oh, oh, take hold  
  
From a haze came a rage of thunder  
Distant signs of darkness on the way  
Fading cries scream of pain and hunger  
But in the night the light will guide your way, your way  
  
So take hold of the flame  
Don't you see life's a game  
So take hold of the flame  
You've got nothing to lose, but everything to gain  
  
Ride, to a place beyond our time  
Reach, for the edges of your mind  
And you are there  
  
See, that the light will find its way  
Back to a place where it will stay  
Make it stay  
  
Throw down the chains of oppression that bind you  
With the air of freedom the flame grows bright  
We are the strong, the youth united  
We are one, we are children of the light  
  
So take hold of the flame  
Don't you see life's a game  
So take hold of the flame  
You've got nothing to lose, but everything to gain_  
  
When Mark's song was over, he looked a little shaken - as if the song had come through him rather than deliberately choosing to play and sing - and he put down his guitar.  
  
Now it seemed for the first time that Sören could see what Mark was seeing beyond the waves - a world that once was, and had long since passed, where Maglor, Fëanor, Fëanor's brothers and Maglor's brothers lived and loved and it felt like they would stay that way forever, nothing could touch them and their happiness. And then everything touched them, everything hurt them, and it was all gone, washed away, and all Maglor had left from those days was the Silmarils - the light of his father's soul, the light of his father's love for his brothers, loving and being loved - and they were gone, seemingly lost forever.  
  
Sören took Mark's bad hand and squeezed. "I love you, Kanafinwë."  
  
"I love you, Adar."  
  
Without thinking, only feeling - and somehow _knowing_ , Sören took off his Doc Martens boots, and then his socks.  
  
"What are you doing?" Mark asked.  
  
Sören said nothing, but began to undress. A raven was circling overhead.  
  
"Sören?"  
  
Two ravens now.  
  
When he was completely naked, Sören began to walk into the Pacific Ocean, rolling up at high tide, in the direction of Haystack Rock, though he knew he wouldn't make it all the way out there. The water in November was too cold, especially after the rains, and Sören gasped as it hit his ankles, again as it hit his calves. Shivering, he went in deeper, to his waist, then to his chest, then to his shoulders. Mark was calling him from the beach but Sören only half-heard him. He closed his eyes, reached out in the direction of Haystack Rock, and _pulled_.  
  
He felt light hit the back of his closed eyes. The clouds were getting darker, thicker, like a storm was on its way, and he was no longer shivering. A white light was shining on him - a beam of light, like a floating headlight, was coming closer and closer, brighter and brighter. As the waves got choppier, angrier, Sören opened his hand and grabbed. He felt something fall into his hand like a glass egg, but hot, almost too hot to hold, and the light was almost blinding.  
  
Sören came back. He was starting to have an asthma attack from the intensity of everything - the shock of the cold, the heat of the object in his hand, the surge of _I did it. I did it, you Valar motherfuckers, I did it._  
  
One of the ravens let out a croak that sounded like a cry of victory.  
  
"Sören." Mark rushed to him just as he fell over in the sand, shaking. "Sören."  
  
Mark carried him inside.  
  
When Sören was wrapped up in blankets by the gas fireplace in the cabin, Mark went outside to get their things and then he came in with a stern, almost murderous look on his face. "Sören Sigurðsson."  
  
"I did it, Mark." Sören's voice was shaking. He rocked himself in the blanket heap, clutching the Silmaril tighter. "I did it."  
  
"Show me."  
  
Sören opened his hand, and the Silmaril floated above his palm, turning over and over, brilliant like a lamp went on in the room, millions of tiny rainbows sparkling over them. Mark's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Then he took Sören's palm and examined it with disbelief. "You are unburnt."  
  
Sören looked at his palm. "Ah." He didn't know what to make of that - he was surprised and not surprised at the same time.  
  
"Sören. You could have gotten hypothermia in that freezing fucking water -"  
  
"I'll be OK." Already Sören was starting to feel better between the blankets and the fireplace and the heat of the Silmaril and his own natural warmth.  
  
"You are fucking impossible," Mark said as he went to the kitchen to make hot tea to further warm Sören up.  
  
"No, not impossible." Sören said. "Imperishable."  
  
When he came back a few minutes later, Mark snapped, "Flame Imperishable you may be, but you're not immortal." Mark looked almost angry enough to spit. "It's great to have a Silmaril back - really, that sounds sarcastic, but no... it's... important. But you know what? I'd rather have you. Not dead."  
  
"You can have both," Sören said.  
  
Mark's brow furrowed. He watched as the Silmaril sank back into Sören's palm. "I'm almost afraid to touch that thing, after..." He opened his own scarred palm.  
  
"No, Maglor. It's OK now." And with that, Sören grabbed Mark's wrist and put the Silmaril in his hand.  
  
He was right. Mark dropped to his knees and began to sob. He came closer to Sören, laid his head on Sören's lap through the blankets, and wept. Sören held him, pet him.  
  
"Ada," Mark choked out, shaking. A wail erupted through him. "Ada."  
  
"Yes, Maglor. It's OK now. Ada's here. We're going to find our way." Sören played with his hair some more.  
  
Mark came closer and rose up enough to take Sören in his arms, give him a fierce, tight hug, rocking him and rocking him, and now Sören wept too, crying with Mark, crying as he had never cried before.  
  
"Here," Sören said, opening the blankets. "If you're so worried about me catching hypothermia... come get me warm."  
  
Mark seized Sören's mouth in a kiss and pushed him back against the bearskin rug with a growl. He put the Silmaril on Sören's chest over his heart, still in his hand, and Sören covered Mark's hand with his, reaching with the other to pull Mark down against him, to kiss him again.  
  
But Sören needed to recover from the ordeal of the freezing water... and the shock of claiming the Silmaril. He felt like he'd been in a battle. In the warmth of Mark's embrace, Sören rested as Mark held him, weeping. The tears silently flowed down Sören's own cheeks, shaken to his core. There was no going back now; the past, present, and future were all one.  
  
_  
  
The next morning Sören woke up to the sound of rain, and the feel of Mark raining kisses over his face. Sören made a happy contented noise and snuggled closer to Mark, then giggled when he felt Mark's hard-on pressed against him. His giggling became a breathy moan when Mark began kissing his neck, his shoulder.  
  
Then Mark claimed his mouth again and when the kiss pulled apart, Mark looked into Sören's eyes - his own eyes radiant, filled with love and longing - and he stroked Sören's cheek, pet his curls. He started to sing:  
  
 _Sunday morning rain is falling  
Steal some covers share some skin  
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable  
You twist to fit the mold that I am in  
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do  
And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew  
That someday it would lead me back to you  
That someday it would lead me back to you  
  
That may be all I need  
In darkness he is all I see  
Come and rest your bones with me  
Driving slow on Sunday morning  
And I never want to leave  
  
Fingers trace your every outline  
Paint a picture with my hands  
Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm  
Change the weather still together when it ends  
  
That may be all I need  
In darkness he is all I see  
Come and rest your bones with me  
Driving slow on Sunday morning  
And I never want to leave  
  
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do  
Sunday morning rain is falling and I'm calling out to you  
Singing someday it'll bring me back to you  
Find a way to bring myself back home to you  
  
That may be all I need  
In darkness he is all I see  
Come and rest your bones with me  
Driving slow on Sunday morning  
And I never want to leave_  
  
Sören felt tears burn his eyes, heart aching, chills down his spine at the beauty of Mark's tenor, the feeling behind those words... the feeling that they had finally come home.  
  
"I love you, Ada," Mark husked.  
  
"Then love me." Sören's arms tightened around him and he pulled Mark into a kiss, deeper and hungrier than before, Sören's cock rising to meet Mark's cock, sliding together, wanting.  
  
It was an echo of their very first time together in Sausalito over the summer, the first climax Sören had with Mark, cock rubbing cock. They rubbed together slowly, sensually, hands sliding over each other, kissing again and again, the teasing dance of their tongues mirroring the way their cocks played. Mark kissed and licked Sören's neck, kissed down to Sören's nipples, watching the way Sören reacted as his tongue pebbled and peaked them, as the same mouth that sang so sweetly now made the Flame sing with ecstasy. They lost themselves in the silken rhythm of their bodies, the heady intoxicating feeling of being reunited after so long and discovering a new path of their journey together.  
  
They took their time getting to orgasm, it being enough for awhile to just tease, play, keeping each other on that edge and going deeper and deeper. But at last they couldn't hold back any longer, rubbing against each other harder, faster, kisses more feverish, hungrier, more urgent, moans louder, becoming shouts and broken cries. When they reached that point of no return, Mark grabbed Sören's hands, holding them hard enough to hurt, and he ground out, "Fëanor. Sören. Come with me."  
  
"Yes, _elskan_ ," Sören gasped, and there it was, cock spending on cock, an erotic sight that made them come all the harder, trembling against each other, panting. Mark kissed Sören savagely, with such passion that it brought tears to Sören's eyes and set off another pulse of orgasm, another spurt of seed shooting out of him onto the man he loved.  
  
"You are everything," Mark whispered, and kissed Sören again. When they pulled apart, Mark met Sören's eyes, his own wild, needy, and he said, "The most Fëanor thing Fëanor has ever done is remaking himself into something new and beautiful. Sören, but still Fëanor. An alchemy of the spirit. Who you are now is still sacred. Defiant. Your life - your tragedy, your triumph - is art. You are the phoenix you have marked on your skin, this world was not able to quench your fire. Never forget that, Adar."  
  
The tears Sören silently shed through orgasm were no longer silent, coming harder, ripping through him. He grabbed Mark and kissed him with all the fire and passion in him, rising their spent cocks once again. Mark quickly readied them both and slipped into Sören, and after a few minutes of sweet, gentle thrusts as they held each other, kissing and kissing, Mark gave into the storm of their emotions and took Sören hard, pounding Sören harder than he'd ever been fucked in his life, as Sören grabbed the flood of Mark's hair, pulling on it to urge him on, shouting so loud it made him hoarse. And when they climaxed together Mark's cries were as loud as his, and Mark sobbed with him. As their orgasm ebbed and faded, Mark held Sören tight, rocked him, and said, "I love you, Sören. I love you, Fëanor. Now and always. We were made for each other, but we also chose each other, claimed each other, and there is power in that. I don't know what the future holds for either of us, I only know that I want you in it."  
  
Sören kissed Mark's brow, nuzzled him, pet him. "You've got me, Macalaurë."  
  
When Mark got up and made them coffee, Sören took his meds and decided to check his e-mail, which he didn't like doing on the weekends but was a necessary part of life as a teacher - he couldn't escape work entirely even when he was working. He opened up his laptop and when he started the Internet, his home page had breaking news and he saw there had been riots in Portland yesterday, specifically connected to the protest that Dooku was attending.  
  
Sören's heart began to hammer in his chest. Mark saw the look on Sören's face when he came over with coffee. "Ada, what is it?"  
  
Sören opened his mouth and he couldn't speak. He was reading about injuries and arrests - no fatalities reported, but just seeing the words "injured" and "arrested" attached to numbers made Sören wonder if Dooku was one of them, and he couldn't bear it. The tears came on again and now he heard himself making high-pitched noises.  
  
"OK, Ada. Shhhhh." Mark sat next to Sören on the couch and he glanced at Sören's laptop. When he saw the news his own jaw dropped. "Oh shit."  
  
Sören finally made a word. "Nico." His voice sounded raw, and the very sound of his best friend's name set Sören off, breaking down, falling apart in Mark's arms. "Nico. Oh god, Nico. Something happened to Nico..." Sören gave a wordless scream.  
  
"OK, Ada? Try to calm down. We don't know for a fact that something happened to your br - friend." He took Sören's chin in his hand and met Sören's eyes. At Sören's blubbers of protest, Mark insisted, "We don't. We only have numbers, statistics, no names. So here's what you're going to do. Have some coffee, and call his cell. See if he answers. OK?"  
  
Sören nodded. Mark handed Sören the cup of coffee, fixed the way Sören liked it, and after a few sips, which got him breathing somewhat normally again, Sören got out his cell and hit speed dial on Dooku's number.  
  
Dooku didn't answer after four rings, and he was always awake at this time on a Sunday. " _Jesus_ ," Sören said.  
  
"Maybe he's in the bathroom," Mark said.  
  
Sören tried again five minutes later. Four rings and it went to voice mail again; Sören hung up without leaving a message. He tried again another twenty minutes later and still no answer. Sören broke down crying again.  
  
"OK. Let's take one last walk on the beach, and then go back to Corvallis, and back to your place and see if maybe his car is in, if he's home, before we start losing our minds." But Mark's own brow was furrowed.  
  
It was only drizzling when they walked Huan on the beach. "I feel like I should apologize for the weather," Sören said, "but I still had a nice time here."  
  
"So did I. I need to go to the sea more often, I think. It helps me recharge."  
  
On the trip from Cannon Beach back to Corvallis, Sören tied himself up in knots more and more about Dooku, crying again, fidgeting. He knew it was painful for Mark to watch, but he couldn't help himself. He tried Dooku's number a few more times and got no answer, and at last when he buried his face in his hands, doubled over, Mark pulled the car over and pulled Sören into his arms.  
  
"OK. Sören. We... we need to try to distract you for at least a little while so I can get us back to town, OK?" Mark gave him a stern but gentle look. "Talk to me."  
  
"About..."  
  
Mark pursed his lips. "What made you finally decide to tell me who you are?"  
  
Mark got back on the road as Sören collected his thoughts. It was raining harder now, and Mark turned up the windshield wipers. Finally Sören took a deep breath and he said, "Well, it was eating my conscience..."  
  
"I'm sure it was, but I'm guessing it was eating you for awhile before that. What was the turning point?"  
  
Sören sighed. "I painted a woman I'd never seen before who exists, she's Sharon's girlfriend. I dreamt of a man I'd never seen before... who exists, I ran into him at a gas station. I realized I'm not crazy."  
  
Mark's eyes widened. "You know what this means. You wouldn't just dream of them for no reason. They're... probably like you."  
  
"You mean... Elves reborn as mortal?" And then Sören's voice dropped to a hush, excited and terrified all at once. "Family?"  
  
Mark nodded solemnly.  
  
A frisson went down Sören's spine as he thought of Frankie. "Mary Frances. Marilwen. _Lalwen._ " He facepalmed, not believing he'd missed the obvious, especially when he'd painted her when Mark had played a song in tribute of his aunt. "Jesus..."  
  
"Ada... the man you dreamed of..." Mark raised an eyebrow. "Were you lovers in the dream?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"That's probably one of your brothers, then." Mark let out a shuddery sigh, tears in his eyes. "For so long, all I wanted was to see my family again. And now, at least three of you are here..."  
  
"We should double date with Sharon and Frankie sometime, or at least have them come by to meet you."  
  
Mark nodded. He wiped his eyes. "I almost can't believe it."  
  
"Neither can I. But it's real, Mark. And that means if they're around, there's a good chance the others are, or at least some of them."  
  
Mark got back on the road. "I never thought I'd say this, but... you're probably right... I probably have a chance at being reunited with my family at least this way."  
  
"I imagine there are probably some relations higher on your priority list than others," Sören said.  
  
"Yes. Like Fingolfin."  
  
Sören sighed deeply. Just the name was like a knife to his heart. He felt the hysteria rising in him again, this time from remembering his beloved brother-lover, the sour note things had ended on the last time they'd seen each other, Fëanor dying with the belief that Fingolfin hated him - made more bitter by the secret marriage vows they'd taken to each other, to always find their way back to each other no matter what. And then, reading about Fingolfin's last stand against Melkor - a suicide mission if there ever was one, the act of a man with nothing left to lose... that had destroyed Sören when he'd read it, remembering the love he and his brother shared, seeing Fingolfin's death play out in his mind's eye from the story. No, he didn't want to obliterate himself to go back to the way things were, but just the same, he wondered if they both might still be alive right now if they'd worked things out between them like adults, another round of makeup sex, instead of the wall of pride...  
  
 _I miss you, my Ñolofinwë. Without you, I am missing a piece of my soul._  
  
Sören closed his eyes, trying not to cry. "Yeah," was all he could muster aloud. "I wonder where Fingolfin is right now."  
  
 _I know when that hotline bling  
That can only mean one thing  
I know when that hotline bling  
That can only mean one thing_  
  
That was Sören's ringtone for Dooku, chosen to annoy his uptight best friend. Sören frantically grabbed for the vibrating cell phone, and swiped Accept. "Nico?"  
  
"Sören, hello. My apologies for not answering -"  
  
"NICO, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? YOU BETTER BE ALL RIGHT OR I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD -"  
  
Dooku chuckled softly. "Sören, I'm fine, I swear to you."  
  
Sören breathed a sigh of relief. He had to go there, to make things "normal" and okay again. "Hi Fine I Swear To You -"  
  
"You shan't be fine, if you keep making jokes like that."  
  
"Come at me, bro." _Mind, gutter._ "But... seriously?" It was almost a squeak, and Sören felt a little embarrassed, but his relief at Dooku being OK and the need to hear the sound of his voice - oh, that voice - won over his embarrassment, keeping him on the line. "The riot yesterday, you..."  
  
"Did not get arrested, was not injured. It was a very fraught time, I must admit, and I worried when the police showed up that it would get even worse, but I was not one of the protesters escalating things, they were a splinter group from the one I was with. We were behaving ourselves."  
  
"OK." Sören let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Nico, you had me scared shitless..."  
  
"I know that not answering my phone didn't help. It accidentally dropped into a puddle and I had to do the trick with rice to see if I could save it. As you know, it will take hours to dry out..."  
  
Sören felt himself smile at the as you know - he'd been the one to teach Dooku the technique with dry rice on a wet cell phone. "OK, well, I am so glad to hear it was just that and not because you got hurt or arrested. You seriously fucking scared me..."  
  
"I would apologize, but I'd go to the protest again, Sören. I am a man of convictions, I must stand up for what I believe is right."  
  
"Hi A Man Of Convictions -"  
  
"Truly, your students should organize a revolt against your jokes. I'd be happy to help."  
  
Sören blew a raspberry over the phone. "You love it."  
  
"How was Cannon Beach? Are you still there?"  
  
"We're on our way back now."  
  
"Are you spending the evening with Mark? Would you like to come for dinner?"  
  
Sören glanced over at Mark, and before he could open his mouth, Mark said, "Go see your friend tonight. We can swap tonight for tomorrow if you want."  
  
"Mark, you sure that's OK?"  
  
"I wouldn't be telling you it was if it wasn't." Mark rubbed his shoulder. "You were in here having a fit worrying if he died. Please."  
  
"We can do dinner," Sören said to Dooku.  
  
"Splendid. ...Perhaps we could go out to eat, if you're not bored of restaurants from your trip away? I'm still a bit exhausted from the ordeal yesterday -"  
  
"Oh, eating out is fine." _Mind, GUTTER._ Sören's cock stirred slightly at the thought of them having a "glad to be alive" sixty-nine. "I can even treat you to show you how glad I am that you're OK -"  
  
"Not necessary, Sören."  
  
"You never let me pay for you."  
  
"I have more money than you do. Besides, you grace me with your presence. I shall go forth and make reservations - will you be back by six, do you think?"  
  
"Most likely."  
  
"Come to my house then, and we'll proceed."  
  
"All right. I... I'm glad you're OK, Nico."  
  
"Thank you. I'm glad that you're glad I'm OK."  
  
"Hi Glad That You're Glad -"  
  
 _Click._ Sören grinned.  
  
And then he stopped grinning, realizing his wondering where Fingolfin was had been followed immediately by Dooku's call.  
  
His hair stood on end, gooseflesh breaking out over his arms. _There he is._


End file.
